


Can't Go On Thinking Nothing's Wrong

by kyrene



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Eating Disorder, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carelessly spoken words can sometimes cause more harm than anything spoken with intent, as Arthur learns to his distress. </p><p>
  <i>Or, the author indulges herself because it's her birthday, dangit. Please heed the author's note!</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyrene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/gifts).



> This fic is not meant to be a 100% accurate portrayal of an eating disorder; I have only my own borderline experiences to work from. Mostly I'm just writing it because the idea came to me and because I wanted to write it. No offense is intended to anyone who's ever had an eating disorder. (And happy birthday to me! *sheepish grin*)

It started simply enough, as such things often did, but then it grew increasingly complicated, as things tended to do when Eames was involved. Or maybe not. Maybe it remained simple and the complexity was all in Arthur's mind. That... was actually more likely than not, if he were to be perfectly honest.

It _started_ with a bad Somnacin mix. That was always a possibility when one worked on the wrong side of legal and had to rely on the black market for one's drugs. They could keep the PASIV devices in perfect condition, but the machines were useless without the Somnacin compound, or a good substitute. And finding a reliable supplier wasn't as easy as it might sound.

Arthur was good at that part of it. He had connections to at least one reliable chemist on each major continent. But sometimes he didn't have the luxury of sending away for the necessary sedatives, and was forced to work with what was available. 

This had been one of those times.

Actually, Arthur himself had been fine, as had their architect; it had only been Eames who had been affected. When they had awakened to the unmistakable and dire sound of the authorities on their way, Arthur had jumped up, getting ready to go. Their architect, likewise, had been able and active. Eames, however, lay where he was. Arthur had to slap him and call out to him before he even cracked his eyes, and when they were open that was as far as it went. 

Once Arthur figured out what was going on, that Eames wasn't just playing some stupid game, he cursed and gave the PASIV device case into the care of their architect. He didn't like to, but it was clear that Eames wasn't walking out of there under his own power, and Arthur couldn't just leave him for the authorities to find and capture. At least Eames was _alive_ , even if he had been completely incapacitated.

Slinging Eames over his shoulders in a makeshift fireman's carry to get him out of there put quite a strain on Arthur, despite the fact that he kept himself fit, and he felt that he could be excused a little bitching, breathless as the words came out.

"Jesus, Eames, would it kill you to lose a little weight?" he grumped as he and the architect made their way cautiously but swiftly out of the building using the service staff's hallways. He knew that Eames was all muscle, or almost all, but that actually made it worse, considering that muscle weighed more than fat.

"Why am I even bothering?" he wondered aloud when they were pinned down by gunfire, as he propped Eames' limp body at the base of a wall and handled his gun, returning fire in the hopes of clearing their path to the getaway car. 

Of course, he knew that Eames would have done the same for him if their roles had been reversed, but that didn't stop him cursing a blue streak as a bullet clipped his upper arm. It was nothing, barely even a flesh wound, but he had _liked_ this jacket.

"Remind me again why I keep you around?" was his last scathing query, as he'd slung Eames into the passenger seat and taken off in a hail of gunfire, their architect shooting through the hole that remained where the back window had shattered, in an effort to cover their exit. After that, Arthur drove in intense silence, his hands gripping the wheel tightly and his eyes fixed on the road. 

Because he was Arthur he'd had a backup plan in place for this, and once they made it to the logging road that was nearly hidden behind a fallen tree, they were well on their way to safety. But Arthur didn't breathe easily until he'd put miles between them and the local authorities, and until Eames had begun twitching his hands and feet, then slowly shifting, looking as though he was moving through molasses as he body returned to his control.

"Scratch Falkner off the list of chemists I'm willing to use," Arthur instructed snappishly, though he wasn't sure whether he was talking to Eames, to Harper in the back seat, or just himself.

"Noted," replied Harper crisply, probably thinking the same thing herself, but Eames remained silent. Then again, it was probable that he couldn't have spoken if he'd wanted.

"You all right?" Arthur asked, as they drew near the airport.

Eames paused where he was flexing his left hand, open and closed, open and closed, and turned his head toward Arthur, only a little more slowly than was normal. 

"Peachy," he said. He didn't sound it, his voice noticeably more thick and raspy than usual, but Arthur figured he was still working out the last of the bad dose he'd gotten. Whatever it had been that had gone wrong, it had gone _very_ wrong.

"You owe me," Arthur deadpanned as he carefully parked, hoping it was dark enough that no one passing by would see the bullet holes until the three of them were well away from the vehicle and, hopefully, out of the country.

Eames just nodded, as slowly and carefully as he was doing everything else, and then they were all distracted by the stress of getting the hell out of there. 

It might have been smarter to split up, and Harper certainly went her own way, but Arthur didn't like the thought of Eames being on his own when he had gotten a bad batch of Somnacin substitute and so he made sure to book their flights together.

Sticking together after that... well, it just seemed natural. Arthur didn't question it. And since he wasn't saying much at all, neither did Eames.

***

It took Arthur a while after that to notice anything was wrong. It might have been different if he and Eames were still working together as rarely as they had been before the Fischer job, but the fact was that they had somehow, completely unintentionally, become something like a team.

Or, at least, it hadn't been deliberate on Arthur's part. He had no idea what was going on in Eames' mind. As events only made more clear, the deeper he got into things.

They had been together pretty much inseparably since the job where Eames had gotten that paralyzing dose. Eames had made a big deal about cleaning and dressing Arthur's arm once they'd reached a safe house, and Arthur had let him because, well, his back still ached from carrying Eames out of there. Not to mention, it had been nice to see that Eames was _able_ to move and fuss. 

Arthur might not admit it to anyone other than himself, but he'd experienced a moment or two of panic when he'd been unable to rouse Eames, and another once Eames was awake and he'd realized the forger hadn't been able to move. He'd been pretty sure at the time that it had only been temporary, but that hadn't stopped him worrying, and that was probably why he'd spouted those harsh indicatives at Eames. Not because he had meant them, but more because he'd meant the opposite.

Well, except for the weight thing. Because Eames _had_ been very heavy.

Unfortunately, once Arthur figured out what was going on, that was what he realized had come back to haunt him. It just figured that Eames had fixated on exactly the wrong thing.

***

It was Harper who drew his attention to it. They hadn't seen the architect since the disastrous job they had worked together, but since the interruption and the subsequent failure and flight hadn't been the fault of anyone involved, just a round of really bad luck, none of them had any problem working together again. Harper was good, and Arthur and Eames were both the best at what they did, so there was no reason not to form their erstwhile team once again.

"Holy shit, Eames, you've gotten skinny!" was the first thing Harper said when she saw the forger.

Eames mumbled something that might have been agreement or a disclaimer, but Arthur was forced to realize with more than a bit of shock that Harper was _right_.

It had happened relatively gradually, which must be why he hadn't really noticed. Eames had stayed fit -- in fact if anything he was even more corded with muscle than he had been before; there wasn't much else left on his frame -- and so Arthur thought that he could almost be excused for missing seeing it. Only not really, because it wasn't as though it was a small change.

It was sort of like a child, Arthur mused absently, as both he and Harper stared at Eames in silent shock and Eames' ears turned pink, his head bowed in embarrassment under their scrutiny. The most recent time Arthur had seen James and Phillipa he'd exclaimed over how big they'd gotten in the last year. But to Cobb, who was with them every moment of every day, the difference wasn't so readily apparent. It wasn't that he didn't see it; it was that he didn't really realize it until Arthur said something. That was the way it had been with Arthur and Eames.

But now that Harper had said something, Arthur couldn't un-see it. Not that he wanted to. There was something _fascinating_ about it. Fascinating and a little bit horrible.

"You're slimmer than Arthur now," Harper continued, either not reading Eames' desire for a change in conversation, or not really caring. Arthur figured it was the latter; Harper was a decent enough person but a little short where empathy was concerned. Not to the point of being obnoxious, but when she got a subject in her mind, she didn't let up until she was done with it. Actually, Arthur thought, she was a bit like both he and Eames that way, though he was pretty sure that Eames didn't appreciate that fact right now.

"I am not," Eames squawked in protest, his head coming up and his eyes flashing.

"Actually--" Arthur began, but he didn't finish this thought as Eames turned to scowl at him. Not because of the fierce glare, but because he could see the silent pleading behind it, and he was more empathetic than Harper. At least he was where Eames was concerned.

"It's all muscle," Harper said, reaching out and circling Eames' wrist with one hand. Her fingers very nearly met her thumb, and Arthur frowned. "But you still need to eat a burger," Harper concluded, nodding and glancing at Arthur, as though seeking approbation.

It wasn't that Arthur disagreed, but at this point he turned the meeting in the direction of the actual job, and Harper followed suit easily enough. She'd said her piece, evidently, and was ready to let it go.

Arthur, however, now had a new and intense awareness of Eames' body, and he wasn't about to let his attention ease for a moment. He was just going to have to divide his efforts, between the job and keeping an eye on Eames.

The former was easy enough. Unlike the fiasco of their last job together, this one was progressing smoothly and while all three of them were working at it, none of them had to work very hard. That afforded Arthur plenty of time to watch Eames.

He was discrete about it, of course. He _had_ to be. He didn't want Eames to know that he was worried, and he didn't want to spook the forger, but he _did_ need to figure out what was going on. He had thought for a few confused moments once Harper had brought it to his attention that it might be some sort of residual result of the bad dose Eames had gotten, but actually watching Eames quickly dispelled that idea.

The first thing Arthur realized was that he rarely saw Eames eat anymore. It was pretty clear from the weight he had shed, from the fact that, yes, he really was about Arthur's size if not skinnier, that Eames _wasn't_ eating; at least not as much as he should have been. The pastries Arthur began to bring to their morning meetings went untouched; at least by Eames, though Harper gleefully downed her share. When Arthur asked Eames what his last meal had been, he deflected and changed the subject. He had to be eating at least enough to keep himself going, and to fuel his mad exercise regimen, but that wasn't saying very much, Arthur was afraid.

Then there was the exercise. Arthur kept himself in prime condition, it was true. Every inch of his body was muscle and he could hold his own against men twice his size. But Eames seemed determined to outdo him in every way. When they lifted weights together, Eames was still working when Arthur was done and had left the gym. When they jogged together in the early morning or late evening, Eames would go for another circle around the block once Arthur had finished and was headed for the shower, _"Just to cool down,"_ as though that hadn't been what the last few minutes of their run had been.

It wasn't that Arthur didn't appreciate what all this hard work was doing for Eames. The man had never been so fit. Gone was the bulk that Eames had brought to the Fischer job, when he'd been all muscle but a lot more of it. Now he was streamlined, reduced to the essence of himself, and it did suit him....

But he was _reduced_. Even though he secretly liked the look, it worried Arthur. Eames was dangerously close to being _too_ skinny. Some might argue that he was already there, though the same people might also say that Arthur was too slim as well. Arthur watched as Eames added a little more muscle, but at the same time shed several more pounds during their job, and since he was looking for it he could see it happen. This was the point at which he decided he couldn't let this go on any longer without interfering.

After all, it wasn't as though anyone else was going to look out for Eames. And when he let himself see past all the ways that Eames annoyed him, Arthur had to admit that he... _cared_. He cared about what happened to Eames and he worried.

Besides which, he realized, Eames hadn't really been his normal annoying self lately. He'd still been just as prickly and easily insulted as he had always been, but he hadn't needled Arthur about anything, had been polite and solicitous ever since Arthur had carried him out of the line of fire....

And that last thought sparked something in Arthur's mind. He felt he almost had it, almost knew what was going on. But he couldn't quite pin it down more tightly than that. So he put it to the back of his thoughts, let his subconscious work away at it, and turned all of his attentions to taking care of Eames.

Because clearly _someone_ needed to. Since Eames wasn't going to take care of himself.

***

"Do you want to go to that Greek place for dinner?" Harper asked, the night before they were due to pull off their job. She was in a friendly, cheerful mood, since the extraction was pretty much a dead certainty, and had been just challenging enough to be interesting but not enough to be a pain.

"I was thinking the steakhouse," Arthur counter-offered. "Though if your heart is set on Greek...."

"No, I can do beef," Harper said, flashing white teeth in a broad grin. She wasn't as young or as pretty as Ariadne, but who in the business of extraction was? Harper was a good architect and a decent enough person in a profession filled with thieves, more trustworthy than most. Arthur sincerely liked working with her, even though Eames was the only person he could imagine working with all the time.

And since when had that happened? Much like Eames' weight loss, it had crept up on Arthur and taken him by surprise. But they'd come a long way from how they had been before the Fischer job, when they hadn't much cared for one another, and now Arthur couldn't really picture going off on his own and doing a job without Eames by his side.

That was... that was something to give some serious consideration to, but later. Right now he had a more urgent agenda.

"Eames," Arthur prompted, turning toward their forger, who was sitting at a desk, paging through Arthur's report on the mark's ex-wife, _"one last time"_ he'd said. As though he hadn't already internalized everything pertinent by this late date.

"Go on without me," Eames instructed absently, proving that he _had_ been listening, even if he was dismissing them without so much as a glance in their direction.

"That wasn't a request," Arthur said, stepping over and closing his hand around Eames' upper arm. His fingers really went too far toward wrapping around it, and he knew it was time to stop simply watching and to start acting. 

Eames frowned up at him, but he rose easily enough and slid into his jacket, following without protest despite his initial negative response. 

To be perfectly honest, it made the hair on Arthur's nape prickle when Eames did that; and he'd been doing it a lot more than he used to. It wasn't that Eames didn't have a mind of his own, it was that lately he did whatever Arthur said when given a direct order. And that was strange and out of character... as well as making Arthur feel the weight of making sure he didn't ask for anything Eames wouldn't have done normally.

Once this job was through, Arthur was going to have talk about this with Eames. Then maybe he'd figure out what had gone wrong, and could work to get things back to how they had been before. 

Well, maybe not _exactly_ as they had been before. He and Eames were evidently a team now, and Arthur didn't want to lose that. Also, he wouldn't mind terribly if Eames remained a little more amiable than he had used to be.... He just didn't want Eames to be as _malleable_ as he had become.

First and foremost, though, Arthur wanted to know _why_ Eames had suddenly decided to become so obedient. It was.... It just wasn't right. Arthur wondered whether it was connected to the extreme weight loss; it would have seemed like too much of a coincidence to be otherwise, since Eames had been pretty much completely normal before their last disastrous job.

This job was going to go better, and when it was over, Arthur was going to pin Eames down and demand an answer. And he wasn't going to let Eames weasel his way out of answering.

Not until it was successfully completed, however. Even though it shouldn't end up being challenging, Arthur didn't want to risk throwing Eames off his game before they saw it through to its conclusion. Arthur was worried about Eames on a personal level, it was true, but he was still a professional. And so was Eames. Not to mention, Harper would have been pissed if Arthur threw everything into chaos right now. So it would have to wait.

Once they got to the restaurant each of them chose what they wanted. Arthur would have felt better about the fact that Eames ordered unprompted, if he hadn't seen the man's eyes quickly cut toward him once the server had come around to him at the table. It wasn't exactly reassuring to know that Eames was here and had gotten food simply because Arthur had desire it.

Eames was the master of surveillance, but Arthur was no slouch. It wasn't that difficult keeping an eye on Eames while they all ate... or, rather, while Arthur and Harper ate. Eames _did_ eat, it was true. But mostly what he did was push his food around his plate and very skillfully make it appear as though he had consumed more than he actually had.

Arthur might have been impressed by this if he hadn't been so disturbed by the implication, and by the _reality_ of it.

Well, maybe he would give Eames the benefit of the doubt, and think that the man didn't know he was doing it. As unlikely as that was, considering it was _Eames_....

And then Eames looked up and caught Arthur's eye. Arthur quirked one brow, and Eames shoved a forkful of potatoes in his mouth, looking incredibly guilty. So Arthur was pretty much certain that Eames had not been doing anything unconsciously or by accident. Dammit.

Harper was always a cheerful companion to have, and Eames seemed to be making an effort at being extra charming -- though if he thought this would distract Arthur from tracking how much of his meal actually went in his mouth, he was sadly mistaken -- and so the meal went by quickly and pleasantly enough. Harper wasn't anyone Arthur would choose to work with on a regular basis, the way he did Eames, but he did enjoy having her around when she _was_ around.

Once they were finished and Eames had eaten _just_ enough that Arthur didn't feel he could call him on it, they parted ways. Well, Harper did. Arthur and Eames had adjacent rooms in their hotel, so they were headed in the same direction.

Or so Arthur thought. They walked together, side by side, until they reached their hotel lobby and got into the elevator. At which point Eames casually mentioned that he was going to be hitting the hotel gym once he'd changed his clothes.

"Right now?" Arthur asked incredulously as they exited the elevator, his brows rising, too surprised to try to hide his honest reaction.

"Have to burn off those calories from dinner," Eames declared blithely. Then he vanished into his room before Arthur could shake himself free of his momentary shock and say something.

For a crazed instant Arthur contemplated bursting into Eames' room after the man, but the night before a job seemed like a bad time for a confrontation, no matter how overdue it was. For the same reason, he decided against waiting in the hall until Eames came back out, though it took him a bit more thinking to be sure about that.

In the end he went into his own room and began doing some serious research. When Arthur felt out of his depths, that was what he did. Besides, he had a feeling he was going to want to be well armed for the coming battle. And he knew Eames well enough to know that it was highly likely that there was going to be a battle. 

This was not a battle Arthur was willing to lose.

If he lost, after all, they both lost. And that was an untenable thought.

***

The job went off without a hitch, just as they had all expected it would. Arthur did like having a challenge sometimes, it was true, but it was also nice when they got in, got what they were after, got out, and got paid handsomely for doing something that wasn't too terribly difficult or immoral.

Arthur wasn't big on the whole white-hat versus black-hat thing. He knew that life was composed of variations of grey; work in the dream-share even more so. And he would do what was necessary to make a profit... within reason. All that being said, it still suited him when he got to pretend, even briefly, that he was one of the good guys.

Well, and the pay was generous and welcomed. Splitting it three ways was less painful than with a larger team, and Harper was just as delighted with these same facts and not backwards about expressing this.

"Any time you two want an architect, let me know," she grinned, packing up the last of her things and preparing to return home. Arthur thought about his home; it had been almost a year since he'd last visited, and he had decided the night before that inviting Eames to join him there for a little downtime might be the best way to handle the impeding confrontation.

"No guarantees of service," Harper continued, winking at them. "But definitely clue me in and I'll see if I'm free and interested."

"Absolutely," Arthur said, because after Ariadne, Harper was the architect he was most willing to work with. There were those who were good at building dreams and those we were shit at it, and Harper was on the upper end of great. She did have a few problem areas -- her skies were always at least a little bit cloudy and any brick wall she dreamt up was likely to be too uniform -- but overall she was able to do just about anything he asked of her. He'd only stumped her once so far, and she'd come back the next day with the necessary revisions. He respected that, and he respected her.

"Take care of yourself," she told Eames, giving him a quick but tight hug. 

"Oof, you too," Eames grunted, hugging her back. Then it was Arthur's turn.

"For sweet Christ's sake, make the man eat something," Harper murmured in his ear as they embraced. "It was like hugging a greyhound!"

"I will," Arthur vowed, as fervently as he felt. He had to admit that her comparison had been remarkably apt. But greyhounds were born to look like that, and Eames had not been. This was going to have to come to an end.

Once Harper had departed, Eames stuck his hands in his pockets and turned a faintly quizzical look on Arthur. "Well, where to now?"

If Arthur hadn't recognized their impromptu partnership before this would have cemented it in his mind. He was just glad, because it worked in his favor at this moment.

"I've got our tickets already," he replied, giving Eames a small smile. He didn't want to set Eames on his guard, but he knew that Eames liked to see his dimples. After all, it wasn't as though Eames was subtle about the way he stared and his expression softened every time they made an appearance. This smile was no exception. "We should get packed and head for the airport now, actually," Arthur added.

Which they did, and Eames didn't push for any more information than that, which made Arthur a little nervous, even though it made this easier.

"Admit it," he said, once they were safely aboard the plane and Eames couldn't get in a huff and leave or anything. "You're just coming along with me because that way you don't have to do the work of digging up jobs on your own."

Eames' mouth fell open in indignation, but before he could go off, Arthur wrapped a hand around his wrist and gave him an apologetic look.

"I'm kidding," he said. "Don't take everything so seriously, Eames."

Eames' brows rose toward his hairline. "And it's _you_ telling me that?" he rumbled. Arthur noted that he hadn't pulled his hand away. His pulse was a little fast until Arthur's fingers, but Arthur wasn't sure what to ascribe that to.

"Absolutely," Arthur grinned, and there was that look, the one he couldn't quite read. He didn't tend to smile much during work, especially not when there were people he didn't know well around, but when he was on his own time.... Speaking of which, he supposed he could tell Eames where they were headed now. Since they were already on their way there.

"So how did you feel about having a small break?" he asked, as casually as possible. There wasn't really any good way to work that into conversation, of course, and Eames' eyes went suddenly sharp and suspicious.

"Where are we headed, Arthur?" he asked. As though he hadn't already read the destination on his boarding pass and at the flight gate. But then, he probably didn't mean that question literally. As he proved by clarifying; "Are we on a job, or...?"

"I have an apartment in Seattle," Arthur answered truthfully. "I need some downtime, and I think you should take some too. You're more than welcome to make use of my guest room. I can't guarantee we won't get wet, but it really doesn't rain as much as they say. Well. Not quite."

Eames was blinking at him a little rapidly, as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Not that Arthur could blame him, he supposed. Still....

"It's not as if I never take breaks," he said a little defensively.

"We're not... lying low for any reason, are we?" Eames asked, lashes flickering as he glanced around, even though no one sitting near them was paying them the slightest bit of attention. Still, Eames wouldn't be Eames if he wasn't on alert. At least while in public, and that was part of the reason Arthur wanted to get him in a place he felt safe, especially before tackling the touchy subject of his recent weight loss. Besides... he was really kind of hoping to get to see Eames with bed-head.

He wasn't so sure of the why on that last, and so he pushed it out of his mind. For now. Certainly, Eames didn't need to hear about that strange desire.

Arthur shook his head, reassuring. "No. To the best of my knowledge, we're both okay with everyone in the business and all our former clients. I just want to relax for a while. A week, maybe two. Recharge, take some time finding our next job, eat at my favorite local restaurants, catch up with a few people, spend some of the money we just earned."

Eames was looking at Arthur as though he'd never seen him before. Which was patently ridiculous, because Arthur wasn't some workaholic or automaton, and there was no reason for Eames to think that he was. Hiding out after a job gone wrong wasn't the only reason to take a break, after all.

"What do you do when you're not working?" Arthur asked, a little frustrated by Eames' continued incredulity, but also curious about the answer to his query.

The confounded frown he got from Eames was almost amusing, but he was waiting to hear whether or not he'd get an answer. 

"Well." Eames licked his lips, a quick flicker of pink tongue over plush swells, and Arthur tamped down on his reaction to that with the ease of long practice. He did, however, become abruptly aware that he was still holding Eames' wrist. He didn't really feel like letting go, though, and so he didn't. "I guess I sleep. Eat. Drink. Get some sun."

Arthur grinned wryly. "Sorry. Won't be much of that last where we're headed."

Eames shrugged with one shoulder, and Arthur almost winced at the visual reminder of how sharp and bony Eames was underneath his shirt. Well, he was going to be speaking to Eames about it.... But not until the plane had landed and they were safely ensconced in Arthur's apartment.

"You really... don't mind me staying at your place?" Eames asked hesitantly, and it was so weird to hear that in his tone, to see it in his face. He really was an attractive man, even though he generally managed to hide it well. Arthur had certain _feelings_ about Eames, but he'd always managed to squash them down, mainly because Eames spent so much time infuriating him, whether in purpose or incidentally.

Of course, lately Eames hadn't been. And so maybe it wasn't so surprising that those long-ignored feelings were rising to surface, like cream in a pitcher of whole milk.

Arthur smiled, trying to be as open and honest as he could when he was accustomed to keeping on his best poker face no matter who he was speaking to. He had to convince Eames, and even more than that, he wanted Eames to believe him.

"I don't mind at all," he said earnestly, holding Eames' gaze. "I'd be glad for the company, in fact."

"Don't much like sharing my own place," Eames mumbled, glancing away and fidgeting. Arthur could feel the cords of his wrist flexing under his fingers, and he figured he ought to let go. He did so regretfully, and Eames immediately clasped that same spot in his opposite hand. "Glad you don't feel the same," he added with a sidelong glance, before Arthur could decide what he'd meant by the first half of the statement.

Arthur nodded, because he wasn't really sure what to say in response. But evidently Eames had just agreed to take a break with him, and to stay at his place, so he was happy. There was still the coming confrontation over Eames' weight, and Arthur felt a little bad that he'd manipulated Eames so that it was going to happen on Arthur's home territory, but that was the way it was going to have to be. 

And, watching the tendons of Eames' wrist flex as he reached for an in-flight magazine, Arthur knew that he couldn't put it off any longer. This was something that needed to be addressed before Eames wasted away entirely.

He'd already put it off in deference to the job they had just completed. He couldn't afford to wait any longer.

***

"So what do you think?" Arthur asked, once he'd given Eames the grand tour and gotten his luggage settled in the guest room. It was weird having Eames in his personal space, allowing himself to give away so much of his personal life when he usually kept it so closely guarded... and yet it didn't feel wrong. Eames looked as though he belonged here.

Or maybe Arthur just _wanted_ him to belong here. That was all right too.

"It's smaller than I was expecting," Eames said, looking around with an intent expression, as though he was memorizing everything. Well, he probably was. Knowledge of exits and anything that could be used as a weapon would be essential if they were attacked here. Not that Arthur expected they would be. Even if anyone were after their hides -- which to the best of his intel no one was -- this apartment was practically untraceable. Arthur valued it too much; he'd rendered it as safe as was humanly possible. Unless someone had _physically_ tracked them here it was invisible. And Arthur was ninety-nine percent certain they hadn't been followed here from the airport.

"Really?" Arthur was a little surprised by this. His apartment was about average size; any larger and he wouldn't be able to effectively protect it or himself, any smaller and it would have driven him crazy to live in it.

"Or larger," Eames added, his brow furrowing as though even he didn't know what he was talking about. "It's different, at any rate.... But it's very _you_."

"Thanks, I think," Arthur said dryly. He checked the local time; it was late afternoon and he already knew that the cupboards were bare, aside from a few non-perishables. "I'm going to shower and then go grocery shopping," he said. "Do you want to come along and choose what I make us for dinner?"

"No thank you," Eames replied politely. "I'm fine with whatever you decide." Arthur was glad that Eames didn't seem overly surprised that he could cook. "By the way," Eames added with what he probably thought was smooth casualness, "Is there somewhere around here to work out?"

Arthur tried not to scowl at him, because he didn't want to scare Eames off prematurely. It would be an easy enough thing for the man to just walk out the door while Arthur was bathing, or while he was out shopping. Or right this instant, if he got pissed off enough.

"There's a small gym on the ground floor," Arthur replied. His voice was a little tight but he couldn't help that. "It's well equipped and not many people use it; it's part of the reason I chose this apartment. I'll get a copy of the key made while I'm out, okay?"

Eames nodded, looking far more grateful than such a small gesture warranted. "Thank you." Then he grimaced faintly. "Sorry for leaving the shopping to you, but I'm completely knackered. Do you mind if I have a quick lie down?"

"Not at all," Arthur replied, restraining himself from remarking that if Eames was eating regularly, and _enough_ , he might not be so tired. Not that he could blame Eames for passing on the airline food. Arthur was still regretting the sandwich he'd had, several hours later. "Do whatever you like; this is your break as much as it is mine, right?"

Eames offered him a smile that was incredibly shy and sweet and nothing at all like any expression Arthur had ever gotten from him before. He didn't really miss the verbal sniping, but he did sort of miss their banter, he had to admit. Still, this smile did things to Eames' face; it softened his edges and made him look younger. Unfortunately, it also accentuated how pointy his chin and cheekbones had gotten, and Arthur resolved to spend most of his shower and his subsequent shopping trip thinking of the best way to tackle the subject of Eames' health. 

It might not be any of his business, but no one else was going to step in and say anything. And Arthur couldn't help it... he had a certain amount of proprietary interest in Eames. He was pretty sure that all their sparring had been disguised flirting, and the very fact that Eames was here indicated that they were at least mutually respectful colleagues, if not friends. 

Though, Arthur did like to imagine that they _were_ friends. If either of them was the sort of man to have such weaknesses as friends.

"Thanks," Eames said simply.

"Thank you for joining me," Arthur replied, giving Eames a quick smile and feeling guilty about the fact that he was going to be pressing the issue of Eames' weight loss before the day was out. He could at least wait until after Eames was unpacked, though. Whether this was strategic or polite, he wasn't sure, but it didn't matter in the end, as long as it happened.

Eames vanished into the guest room and Arthur went to shower away the scent of travel. He'd be sure to buy plenty of raw ingredients and make them the most delicious dinner ever. If it was his home cooking and if it tasted great, then Eames could hardly refuse to eat it... right?

That was certainly Arthur's hope, at any rate.

***

It was strangely domestic, settling into his apartment with Eames, cooking Eames dinner.... And by "strange" Arthur meant completely bizarre. 

Eames came into the kitchen while Arthur prepared their evening meal, sitting at the table, sipping the wine Arthur had gotten them, and discussing the job they'd just completed. He did offer to help with the preparation, but Arthur waved him off. 

"I'll make us dinner tomorrow night," Eames promised, and Arthur smiled and nodded, even though he thought that it was as likely as not that Eames would be gone by the next evening. He _hoped_ not, of course. But it was impossible to say how Eames was going to react to their coming conversation. Arthur couldn't put it off any longer; they _needed_ to discuss it.

Eames had roused from his nap when Arthur had gotten home and he had bathed while Arthur put the groceries away. He sat now at the table in the kitchen with damp hair and slightly puffy eyes, wearing wrinkled but clean clothing. He seemed relaxed and cheerful, and Arthur felt a little guilty about what he was going to spring on him... but not guilty enough to reconsider.

It was true that Arthur could have put it off for a day or two, could have given Eames a chance to get truly settled in here, maybe made it harder for him to leave.... But he didn't have it in him to wait that long. It was like removing a bandaid; doing to quickly and getting it over with would be better for everyone involved. And it wasn't as though he hadn't had time to rehearse things in his head ever since Harper had drawn his attention to how skinny Eames had gotten. Because he had, plenty of times. 

He still wasn't sure how to approach it, how to introduce the subject, despite all his thinking on the matter. But Eames was simply swimming in a shirt that had used to fit him closely, and Arthur wasn't going to be able to leave things alone any longer. He didn't _want_ to.

"That smells delicious," Eames remarked, once the food was close to being done. Arthur only just managed to bite back a jibe about whether or not Eames would actually _eat_ any of it, because he didn't want to set Eames on alert. Also, it would have been rude, and Eames seemed so happy right now.... Or if not happy, then at least closer to it than Arthur had ever seen him before. Eames was even more guarded than Arthur was, and Arthur wasn't sure he'd ever seen a real, raw, unfiltered emotion on Eames' face.

He wondered whether he'd get one once he started in on the subject of Eames' severe weight loss. Well, he'd find out soon, but not until after they'd finished eating.

"Thank you," he said mildly, rather than spouting off with anything more incendiary. "It's nearly done. Can I ask you to set us a couple of places at the table?"

"We're eating in here, then?" Eames asked, setting aside his wine and rising, going unerringly to the cupboard that housed the plates. Arthur wondered whether Eames had scoped the place out while he'd been shopping, but he was pretty sure Eames had been asleep before he'd finished showering and hadn't woken until he'd gotten back. He probably just went with the most logical, efficient possibility, trusting that Arthur would keep his kitchen as organized as he did everything else in his life.

"I don't have a dining room," Arthur replied, putting the finishing touches on their meal. "And we're not sitting on the sofa to eat."

Eames snorted, and it startled Arthur a little to recognize the sound as laughter rather than scorn. "Wasn't suggesting we should," he said evenly, grabbing a couple of plates and putting them on the table. It relieved Arthur a little when Eames had more trouble finding the utensils, but he got it by the second drawer. "A flat this size, there isn't really any place other than the kitchen to eat, is there?"

"You'll have to have me to your manor next time we're in England," Arthur said, smirking at Eames as he brought the food over and set it in the center of the table where they could both reach it. "Show me how it's done right."

He was only joking, of course. Eames never did stay in the manor that was his in name only. Besides which, he'd already said that he didn't like other people in his personal space. But Arthur found that his flippant suggestion lacked the mocking tone that usually marked their back and forth barbs.

Eames didn't reply, only looked thoughtful. Arthur didn't know whether it was in response to what he had said or how he had said it. He wasn't about to ask, so instead he dished up some of the chicken parmesan he'd made them. It was his best dish, he thought, while still being simple and hopefully easy to digest. Eames would have no reason not to eat his share; at least in theory.

Arthur realized his first major tactical error as they both served themselves, and Eames took about half as much as Arthur did. He should have loaded up both plates before bringing them to the table, damn it.

Arthur didn't say anything, though. He'd be saying something soon enough. And it was nice to see that Eames was willing to eat at all. Half a portion was at least something, and it was more than Eames had managed when they'd had their dinner at the steakhouse before their last job. Arthur shuddered to think about Eames' eating habits the rest of the time, when Arthur wasn't monitoring him. Which had been most of the time, up to this point.

Well, that was about to change. Tonight, at least. And if Eames didn't take off after their coming conversation, then Arthur would make sure that he continued eating regularly.

Of course, there was a good chance that Eames _would_ leave. And in some ways Arthur wouldn't blame him if he did. After all, it really was none of Arthur's business. But as the closest thing to a friend that Eames had -- at least as far as Arthur knew -- there wasn't anyone else who would step up and make sure that Eames was taken care of. 

"Is it all right?" he asked, watching out of the corner of his eye as Eames cut his chicken breast into neat little pieces. If Eames didn't eat the whole thing.... Well, Arthur wasn't sure what he was going to do, but shaming might be involved. After all, he'd put work into creating this meal. Maybe not a lot, but it hadn't been effortless, and he had paid for the ingredients as well, when he'd purchased the groceries. Yes, he'd invited Eames to be a guest in his home, but that didn't mean that it wouldn't be impolite for Eames to waste his resources.

"As delicious as it smelled while it was cooking," Eames said, taking a bite of chicken with all evidence of enjoyment. Arthur didn't doubt he meant it, and hearing it pleased him more than he had expected it would. "Thank you. For the meal and for having me here."

"Sometimes...." Arthur gave it a moment's consideration, then decided to speak the unfiltered truth. "Sometimes I just get lonely. Do you every get lonely?"

He hadn't meant to ask that question, but now it was out there. He wouldn't be surprised if Eames didn't answer. He told himself that he wouldn't mind if Eames didn't answer.

Eames' brow had furrowed, and he was looking at Arthur as though he was a puzzle to be figured out, which Arthur thought was only fair all things considered. But if he was going to be exposing his own vulnerability, it wasn't unreasonable to ask the same from Eames in return. Of course, Eames was under no obligation to reply, since Arthur had volunteered said information.

"I..." Eames blinked, gaze going distant in what Arthur took to be consideration of the question. "I guess.... I've never really thought about it, but.... I wouldn't say I get lonely. Still, I guess I do feel less alone right now. Here, with you."

That was more of a confession than Arthur might have expected, and he was pleasantly surprised to have gotten it out of Eames.

"I'm happy to hear that," he said, trying to sound as sincere as he felt, because the last thing he'd have wanted would be for Eames to take his words as sarcasm or snarkiness.

Eames lapsed into silence, but he was eating and so Arthur was loath to distract him. He in no way wanted to get in a fight during dinner. And he was hungry as well, wanted to make sure he ate his fill. It would have been beyond irony and into the realm of ridiculous if he neglected his own meal out of worry over how much or little Eames was eating.

They ate and they drank their wine, and the words seemed to have dried up but, surprisingly, the silence wasn't uncomfortable or awkward. And Eames finished off everything on his plate, which Arthur found to be a relief, even if Eames had taken less to begin with.

Of course, that might weaken Arthur's position in the coming conversation, but Arthur didn't really feel it did. Not when Eames weighed less than Arthur did; was too obviously stinting himself on other meals, and had clearly been doing so for a while. Arthur wasn't stupid. He might have missed the signs at first, but he could hardly say that he didn't see them now.

"Thank you," Eames said softly as they carried their empty plates over to the sink. He poured them both some more wine while Arthur put the leftovers away -- there were more than he had expected, even though it shouldn't have been unexpected, he supposed -- then handed over Arthur's glass once he was done.

"It was my pleasure," Arthur replied honestly. "I'm just glad you enjoyed it."

"I'm not picky," Eames said, and when Arthur couldn't help his face creasing in a frown, he hurried to add, "But that meal was exceptional, no matter how you look at it."

Arthur smirked a little, shaking his head and taking a sip of wine. "I don't know about such high praise," he murmured. "But it's one of my better dishes."

"So what are we to do now?" Eames asked, looking a bit lost. Arthur could sympathize, but on the other hand he didn't think Eames was going to like what came next.

"Let's go out to the living room," he suggested, gesturing with his wineglass. The kitchen was full of warmth and delicious smells, but it wasn't really a good venue, he didn't think. Of course, the front door was in the living room.... But Eames had already gotten settled into the guest room, so hopefully he wasn't inclined to just take off if Arthur said something he didn't want to hear... right?

Well, there was nothing for it but to dive in headlong. Arthur had put it off for too long already, and he didn't like leaving things unresolved for such an extended period. There had been the job to finish, but it was done, and now Arthur felt overdue in making his concern known.

Eames was watching him warily, his expression pensive, as Arthur led the way out of his small kitchen and back into the living room area. So Arthur probably wasn't as impassive as he'd liked to think. Well, that was probably for the better, he mused. After all, it would have been worse if Arthur's pointed accusations had been coming out of seemingly nowhere, right?

"So, what is it, Arthur?" Eames asked as they settled themselves on the sofa. They were sitting at opposite ends, several inches between them, but Eames' knees were inclined toward Arthur and he hadn't chosen to sit on the recliner or to remain standing, which Arthur took as good signs. "For what nefarious purpose have you brought me into your domicile?"

"Really?" Arthur couldn't help chuckling faintly. Eames was so over the top, the more so when he played it up. He took a drink of wine, wishing that it would give him courage, but even though it was a good vintage it wasn't enough to get him more than slightly buzzed. And that only because he'd started in on it before he'd eaten anything. 

"Honestly, Eames," he continued, "I brought you here to feed you and so that we could both get some rest before our next job, and... well, not be lonely. Together."

Eames quirked a brow. He didn't look as though he disbelieved Arthur, which was good, but.... "And?" he prodded.

Arthur took a deep breath, involuntarily, not deliberately. It wasn't as though he was going to get a better chance than this. Eames had just about set things up perfectly. The only problem being, Arthur still hadn't figured out the best way to put it into words, hadn't been able to decide what was least likely to offend Eames. For all he spent time working with the man, for all he'd been watching him closely ever since the Fischer job, Arthur still had very little idea of what made Eames tick.

Eames was an enigma. He carefully hid his motivations and desires. Arthur liked to think he was more attentive and observant than most people, but even he had figured out very little in the relatively short time since he'd begun actually trying. 

Certainly, Arthur had had time to think this over ever since he'd begun planning it, once he'd realized he _needed_ to say something, but he hadn't gotten much closer to how best to introduce the subject. He didn't want to put Eames on the defensive immediately, but it was hard to come up with an opening line that wouldn't do just that.

"I'm sure you've noticed that things have been... different... since the last job we had with Harper, the one before this one," he began, not as crisp and articulate as he generally liked to be, but Eames had a habit of tying him up in knots without half trying. And with this current situation....

Eames' face had shut down, just as Arthur had feared it would. Though possibly not for the reason he'd expected, as Eames said harshly, "If you were tired of my company, Arthur, you might have just told me so. No need to drag me to your flat and feed me a delicious dinner first. It doesn't exactly soften the blow."

Arthur couldn't help boggling at Eames for a long moment, robbed of words as Eames took the complete opposite of his meaning. And in such a contrary way that Arthur wondered whether Eames even believed his own words, or if he was only baiting Arthur. On the other hand, looking at the hard flush rising in the apples of Eames' cheeks, Arthur had to assume that Eames had meant what he had said, and then he thought it was actually a possibility.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped, even though it ran counter to his intentions to belittle anything Eames had to say. He was offended, though, that Eames thought him capable of doing something so underhanded and downright _cruel_. "Do you honestly think I'd bring you here, offer you a key, make you dinner, and ask you to spend time with me so that I'm not lonely if I had the _slightest_ intention of telling you I was tired of your company?"

The flush had moved from Eames' cheeks to cover his entire face and pink his ears. He cast his gaze down and away, hiding behind his long lashes. "Sorry," he mumbled, nipping at his lower lip. "When you put it like that, it does sound a bit daft, I suppose. But why else would you...?"

"I wanted to talk to you about your weight," Arthur said, putting it out there far more bluntly than he had intended. But then, if he tried to sugarcoat it, Eames would obviously be inclined to do his best to misunderstand.

Eames raised his head, blinking at Arthur and giving every evidence of being confused.

"I've finally got it under control," he said, then, while Arthur was struggling to parse Eames' meaning when what he had said had made absolutely zero sense, he added, very earnestly and seriously, "You needn't worry about it from here on out, Arthur. I won't get that large again."

"What are you even-- Do you--" Arthur became aware that he was sputtering, and he cut himself off. He needed to get his emotions under control before he tried to speak any further. "That's, that's not what I--" 

Okay, not as under control as he'd intended. 

And now Eames was staring at him as though it was _Arthur_ who had the mental problem here.

Arthur sucked in another deep breath and did his best to center himself. He wished that he had more wine, but his glass was empty now and alcohol wasn't going to bolster him any or help him get through this conversation. Much though he might desire otherwise. Arthur preferred to do things without using a crutch of any sort, but right now he felt as though he could have used any support that he could get.

"I'm concerned," he said, knowing he was speaking a little too stridently, but unable to regulate his tone as he usually did, "Because you're losing too much too quickly, Eames."

Eames scoffed at this, a wordless noise of scorn, and Arthur had to fight not to bristle, to continue calmly and rationally.

"You're stinting yourself on food. You're exercising too much." He frowned deeply. None of this was the real issue, of course, but evidently he was going to have to come at the real issue in a roundabout fashion. "Eames, you're not losing weight in a health way," he complained, because that much was true.

"Easy for you to say," Eames told him, his expression pensive. "You're naturally slim."

Arthur felt his jaw physically drop. Eames had reduced him to that. "I can't-- I can't _believe_ you just said that!" he gasped. 

"Why not? It's true." Eames raised his eyebrows. "Forgive me, Arthur, but... I fail to see how this is any of your business," he continued. And he spoke mildly, not defensively, but it was the same thing Arthur had been thinking all along, and so he winced as he heard it.

"I'm worried about you," he said, scowling. So much for remaining calm and collected. But he just couldn't let this go, even if Eames was right and it _was_ none of his business. "We've been working together for a while now, Eames," he tried, spreading his hands and widening his eyes at the other man. He didn't try for disingenuous, but neither did he try _not_ to look disingenuous. "If you won't accept that I'm worried about you as a friend, then take it as concern over our working relationship and your ability to continue on as you've been going."

Eames' long lashes flickered and he looked confounded. Arthur wondered what he was having trouble with, but he wasn't left wondering for long.

"Friends?" Eames asked hesitantly, hands opening and closing on his knees,

Arthur fought back a sigh. "Well, you don't think I would just invite _any_ colleague to stay with me in my own home, do you?" He tried hard not to sound sardonic, he really did, but he wasn't sure how successful he was.

Eames blinked at him some more, the tendons in his arms flexing, and if he'd been a gambling man Arthur would have bet good money that Eames was restraining himself from fumbling for his totem. He wasn't in the mood for gambling, though, and there were more important issues here than whether or not he considered Eames a friend. Even though he found himself abruptly wildly curious as to whether it went the other way around and Eames thought of him as a friend. After all, he _had_ agreed to come and stay with Arthur....

"That's not what I'm talking about, though," he pushed, and he didn't really want to talk about this, but Eames hadn't left him with any choice. If it was going to get better on its own, it would have done so by now. Eames wasn't going to make any changes voluntarily, Arthur was sure. So it was up to him. Evidently. Somehow.

"What are you...." Eames shook his head. "Arthur, what are you on about?" he asked plaintively, as though it was Arthur who was the one being unreasonable here.

"Eames, you look like a fucking bobble-head doll!" Arthur snapped. Which, okay, might not have been the most tactful way of putting it, but that didn't make it not true. And the thought had been kicking around in Arthur's head so long that it almost felt good to articulate it. Not quite, but almost.

Eames' eyes popped wide and his mouth rounded. Arthur felt a little bad, and he belatedly thought that insulting the looks of a man who obviously had some issues with seeing himself objectively was probably not the best idea he'd ever had, but it was too late now. He couldn't take the words back, could only continue onward.

"I mean," he said, trying to clarify without backpedalling, "You're getting too skinny and I'm worried. Harper was right, you're thinner than me now. You scoffed when she said it, but it's true. And it's not safe for you to have dropped that much weight that fast. Even if you do look good."

He tacked on that last, despite the fact that it was a little contradictory, because it was also true. He was worried about Eames' extreme weight loss, and the man had gotten a little _too_ thin, but Eames did look good slimmed down and toned. He'd just taken it beyond what was safe or sane. 

Besides, it probably couldn't hurt to feed Eames a few compliments, considering that Arthur had kind of insulted him a moment ago.

"Arthur, this isn't about how I look," Eames said, and he sounded so patient that Arthur kind of wanted to punch him in the face. Only not really. Violence wouldn't solve anything, nor would it make Arthur feel better. Not really. Tempting as it might be.

"No?" He probably should have tried harder to keep his disbelief out of his voice, but it was hard to remain tactful in the face of such blatant self-delusion.

Eames continued, sounding remarkably reasonable for someone who was so full of shit. "This is about my weight, not my appearance. After all, if you weren't so fit I'd be dead or in prison right now."

It took Arthur a couple of seconds of rapid blinking to make the connection. It wasn't that he'd forgotten about the disastrous job where Eames had had the bad reaction to the sedative, and it wasn't as though he hadn't pinpointed that as being the moment when everything had gone strange and wrong... but they hadn't been talking about that, so it hadn't been at the forefront of his thoughts.

"Jesus, Eames, you can't blame yourself for that," he said forcefully, shaking his head.

"Why not?" Eames asked, raising his brows. "You did. And rightfully so."

"What?" Arthur squawked, unable to remain calm under these circumstances. "I did not!" 

But when he paused and thought about it, Arthur had a sneaking suspicion that if he reviewed his words to Eames, spoken under stress in the firefight, that Eames might prove to be the one who was remembering correctly. Hadn't he literally said something about Eames needing to lose weight? 

Well, shit.

"Eames, I was _kidding_!" he said in exasperation, and not a little bit of fear. If this was Arthur's fault -- and it certainly seemed as though it might be -- he needed even more to fix it. The only problem was that he had absolutely no idea how to do that. 

He couldn't let Eames down, though. Not if he had caused this, even indirectly.

"You were not," Eames replied, frowning at him. He wasn't angry, which was good, but Arthur didn't feel that they were really making any progress here. It was a little like trying to swim upstream against a powerful current. Arthur was exhausting himself without feeling as though he was getting anywhere.

"Okay, maybe I wasn't kidding," Arthur said, even though it pained him to give that much ground. Still, he was willing to say to it because it might well be true. And wasn't he kicking himself for that now. "But that doesn't mean that I was _right_ ," he continued.

Eames actually smiled at him, the bastard, his brows rising again. "Are you admitting to having been wrong about something?" he asked, sounding far too cheerful considering the conversation they were having.

"In this case, yes!" Arthur snapped. "Eames, I was stressed out and being shot at. You were heavy, true, but not any more heavy than any grown male would have been. Even Harper would have gotten heavy if I'd had to cart her around. _I'd_ have been heavy if _you'd_ had to carry me out of there. I did what needed to be done, I was happy to do it, and I'm very sorry if something I said hurt your feelings. It was inexcusable of me."

Eames was blinking at him, looking stunned again. Normally Arthur would have been pleased to have gotten this response from the cocky forger, but not in this particular situation, not during this conversation. 

As the silence stretched between them Arthur really kind of wished he had some way of reading what was going on in Eames' mind. But then, if he'd had that all along, they wouldn't be in this mess, now, would they.

"How can you even think that I wanted you to lose weight?" he asked when Eames didn't say anything, trying to calm himself and speak evenly when his heart was thumping against his breastbone. 

"You didn't hurt my feelings," Eames said, sounding scornful but looking a little lost. He paused a moment, then shook his head. "And I didn't lose weight because I thought you wanted me to. You just pointed out a problem and I dealt with it."

Arthur had worked with plenty of idiots and assholes in his time, but never before had he been so tempted to sink his face into his hands and groan aloud. Not that Eames was an idiot or an asshole, generally speaking. But he was missing the point so completely that it almost seemed as though it must be deliberate. The biggest problem being... Arthur didn't think it _was_ deliberate. It was true that Eames generally took delight in misunderstanding Arthur, being obtuse, or taking things the wrong way, but this was something different. And Arthur wasn't sure how to deal with it.

"Eames." He took a moment to just breathe, to try to center himself. "Eames," he tried again, but he really didn't know what to follow that with.

"It's all right, Arthur," Eames said, and he sounded concerned, as though Arthur was the one who needed sense talked into him. Arthur had known this was going to be a difficult conversation, but he hadn't expected it to be difficult in these ways. He wasn't sure he was equipped to deal with this. It was as though Eames was in denial--

Oh! Oh.... Well, that made more sense. _That_ he could deal with. Not that it was going to be easy, Arthur knew. But at least he had half a clue what was going on. That might give him somewhere to set his feet, at least.

"Eames, you have an eating disorder," he stated bluntly. Why should they dance around the issue? If Eames wasn't aware, then it would be best to get it out there. And it certainly appeared as though Eames was unaware. That actually shouldn't have come as anything of a surprise, Arthur thought in retrospect. In fact....

Eames scoffed again, validating Arthur's supposition. "I do _not_ have an eating disorder," he said, so firmly that if he didn't know better, Arthur might almost have believed him. He damned well knew better, though.

"It's not only women who get eating disorders," he said, trying to remain patient and sound reasonable.

Eames' full lips were twisted at one corner and his dark eyes were flashing with something approaching danger. "Be that as it may," he replied with remarkable aplomb, " _I_ do not."

"That's why you're eating too little and exercising too much," Arthur said, desert-dry.

Eames glared at him, and Arthur was sure that in a moment he was going to argue, so he hurried on before he could do so.

"We had to reduce your dosage of Somnacin the last few times we went under," he pointed out. "And we probably should have done so earlier than that, but it hadn't occurred to me."

"So we end up using less sedative," Eames said with a shrug, his quirked lips shifting fluidly into a crooked smirk. "Sounds like a benefit to me."

Arthur knew he was supposed to be _helping_ Eames out here, but he really kind of wanted to smack him. It didn't help that he was pretty sure that this time Eames _was_ bypassing the point on purpose.

"This isn't healthy, Eames," he gritted out.

"I am in complete control here," Eames said dismissively, even giving a brisk wave of his hand as though he could sweep all of it away so easily.

Arthur ground his teeth together, but he also jumped right into that opening. "Don't you realize that that's what it's _about_?" he asked, a little harshly. "Control?"

Eames snorted again. Arthur bit his lower lip until it hurt in an attempt at controlling himself. Granted, Eames had yet to storm out of his apartment, so in a lot of ways this was going better than Arthur had expected... but it was getting more and more frustrating.

Arthur was used to being frustrated; he'd worked with Cobb for a long time, after all. But even Cobb had never been _this_ stubbornly self destructive--

All right, that wasn't true. But on the other hand, Arthur hadn't known how bad Cobb had really gotten until the very end, and he hadn't really been aware all of the details until it was over. Not to mention, Arthur hadn't been directly responsible for any of Cobb's... _issues_. The way he evidently was where Eames was concerned.

Arthur was willing to take some of the responsibility. Of course at the heart of it Eames was a grown man and was in control of his own actions. But it had evidently been some careless, poorly-chosen words on Arthur's part that had led to this current crisis. And that meant that it was up to Arthur to get started on fixing it. It would be Eames who would need to make the changes, but the same way he had begun Eames fixating dangerously and wrong-headedly on his weight, Arthur was going to have to get Eames set on the path to a healthy self image and hopefully a healthy weight.

Besides which... Arthur had to admit that even though he'd felt a certain amount of loyalty to Cobb, enough that he'd been willing to humor the man and help him perform inception even when he hadn't thought it was possible himself, his feelings for Eames were stronger. He wasn't sure when or how it had happened -- well, some time during the period they'd been working together since said inception -- but the more he'd gotten to know Eames, the more he'd come to not just respect him, but also to care about him. To _like_ him.

Eames was giving him a strange look, and Arthur wondered what was going on behind those dark, gleaming eyes. He didn't have to wait long, when Eames pursed his lips and spoke.

"Even if this were true, and I'm _not_ conceding the point, because it's _not_ true, but if it were, what makes you think it's such a problem that you needed to invite me to invade your home and leisure time? Surely you've got better things to be doing."

Arthur sank his head in his hands, closed his eyes, took steady breaths, and counted to ten. That didn't help, so he counted to twenty. By the time he reached "nineteen" he felt capable of replying without exploding.

"Because," he said, as calmly and evenly as he could, raising his head and meeting Eames' curious, borderline alarmed gaze, "It's gotten to the point that you're too thin. Because you're going about this in an unhealthy way. And because I am evidently responsible."

He glared, not able to help himself, then when Eames didn't reply right away he continued. "You're not _invading_ my home, by the way. I _want_ you here. And since it was something I said that got you started on this, it's up to me to try and get you started on fixing it. If you won't stop this dangerous behavior for the sake of your health, will you do it to try and assuage the violent guilt that I'm feeling?"

Eames' brows rose toward his hairline, and Arthur mentally crossed his fingers. That last had been a gamble on his part. He had absolutely no idea whether Eames cared enough about Arthur's feelings to render this a viable request. The fact that Arthur cared enough about Eames to make an effort didn't mean that this affection was in any way returned. He could only hope....

"But that would mean conceding the point," Eames argued weakly. And of all the nerve endings Arthur had exposed in his last attempt, that one was probably the most frustrating and the least vulnerable at the same time.

Instead of replying, Arthur reached over and wrapped both his hands around Eames' nearer forearm. Eames instinctively attempted to jerk his arm away, his face painted in shades of surprise and potential indignation.

"Look," Arthur demanded, squeezing both hands, noting that Eames was no longer trying to pull away, not that he'd had any intention of letting go short of a showing of violence on Eames' part. "Look at how my fingers overlap, Eames!" he said harshly. "Yes, I have large hands. But this, _this_ is _ridiculous_! You're putting on muscle and burning off fat, it's true, but you're not fueling your body correctly, so you're not gaining strength."

Eames still didn't reply, but he was watching Arthur closely, and so Arthur continued, still clinging to his arm.

"Right now you're just under the line of being fit and healthy," he said. "If you'd just be a little less extreme, eat more and exercise less, you'd be in wonderful shape. Don't think that I don't like you looking like this, because I do. I'm _not_ asking you to gain weight back." He paused, reconsidering. "Well, it would be nice if you gained a little weight back because you've started taking better care of yourself.... Or." A thought struck him and he hurried on before Eames could interrupt, even though he didn't seem inclined to do so. "Or, how about this. Let _me_ take care of you. Let me portion out your meals. Exercise when I do, and not more. How does that sound?"

Eames was silent for so long that Arthur almost despaired of getting a response, but it was clear that he was thinking, even if Arthur couldn't tell what was going on behind those mirror-bright eyes, behind his carefully blank mask. 

"I think... that sounds like an awful lot of work on your part," Eames eventually replied, speaking slowly, but not shifting his gaze from Arthur's intent, desperate stare.

"Not really," Arthur said honestly, trying not to let hope rise winging in his heart. "I have to eat; I'll just be feeding you at the same time. _Which I'd be doing anyway_ , considering that you're my guest here. I exercise daily and now I'll have company while I do it. We've pretty much been doing all that anyway; I'm just asking you not to go beyond what I do. And I'm giving you my word I won't start giving you larger portions, or exercising less than I normally do."

Eames grimaced, but didn't say anything, so Arthur wasn't sure why.

"In fact," Arthur persisted, heartened because Eames hadn't turned him down flat yet, because he hadn't left the apartment and gave no indication of planning to do so. "In fact, I'm willing to portion you out less than I eat, " _At first_ , he added mentally, "Because I know your stomach isn't used to a normal amount anymore. And I won't insist on snacks as long as you agree to three meals a day."

On the one hand, all of this was completely reasonable. On the other hand... well, there was absolutely no justification for Arthur to be making these demands of Eames. The mere supposition of their friendship might be nothing more than a projection of Arthur's own desires onto the framework of their working relationship.

Not to mention, if Eames had been being reasonable about this to begin with, then it never would have reached the point that Arthur felt impelled to interfere.

Still, Eames was here, in Arthur's apartment, and he was listening to Arthur even if he might not agree with anything he was saying.

"But now we come back to the fact that I don't wish to concede the point," Eames said quietly. His expression was unreadable, but he hadn't made any move to retract the arm that Arthur was still clinging to.

Speaking of which, Arthur really ought to let go. He knew that. But there was something about holding onto Eames, about feeling the man solid and real in his grasp, that seemed to calm him, to center him. And with the way the conversation had been going, Arthur felt in need of a little grounding.

"So prove it to me," he challenged. When Eames raised his brows in a silent query, he explained. "Eat what I serve you, which won't be more than I eat, and will be less to start. Exercise when I do, no more, but no less. Spend time with me, exploring the city, shopping, trying nearby restaurants... hell, even napping, if we both feel like it. And if at the end of our break period you aren't in better health, then I'll admit that I was concerned over nothing."

Eames looked skeptical. Not that Arthur could blame him. If their roles had been reversed, he'd hardly have been eager to hand his entire life over to the other man.... 

Or, well, maybe he wouldn't have minded. He wasn't sure he quite trusted Eames the way he was asking Eames to trust him, but what he was requesting wasn't involved or excessive, by any stretch of the imagination. If Eames agreed, it wasn't going to compromise him in any way. It wouldn't even be that different than the visit would have gone if Arthur had never opened his mouth. Except that Eames would be wasting less food, spending less time exercising, and hopefully coming out the end of their break in better health, at a more responsible weight.

"I suppose this means that you won't be giving me a key to the gym, then," Eames rumbled, the muscles and tendons in his forearm flexing under Arthur's fingers. 

"Um, sorry," Arthur said, biting his lower lip and actually meaning it. He hated breaking his word, but he hadn't anticipated making this request when he'd made the promise. "Maybe once you've proved your point to me I'll reconsider."

Eames' eyes narrowed, and Arthur let go of his arm as he pulled it away. He winced internally. He should have known better than to speak that last sentence. At the very least, he could have worded it more tactfully, knowing how touchy Eames was.

"Don't be so supercilious," Eames sneered. "I don't need you to patronize me, Arthur."

"I'm not." Arthur rubbed his eyes, feeling exhausted from navigating this touchy conversation with Eames. And he wasn't even sure he'd made a successful case for what he was asking. Baiting Eames could work if it was done subtly, but he might have blown it all with that last sentence. "I swear to you, Eames, I only have your best interests at heart."

Eames licked his lips. Arthur managed not to focus on that nervous flicker because Eames was looking right at him and would have caught him at it, but it was difficult.

"You _were_ being supercilious, just now," Eames said stiffly. "Admit it."

"All right," Arthur said, willing to do so, because Eames was right. "I was, a little. But only because I'm getting exasperated, not out of any sense of superiority."

Eames nodded slowly, seeming willing to accept this, which made Arthur breathe a silent sigh of relief. He'd argue until he turned blue in the face if it got him what he wanted, but each conflict between the two of them created more potential for disaster, and he really wanted this to work.

He wanted to help Eames, and he wanted Eames to give him the opportunity to help.

"You're overthinking this," Eames said with a little shake of his head. The expression of longsuffering sympathy on his face, as though he was still completely convinced that Arthur was the one who was in the wrong here, very nearly infuriated Arthur. But he was so close to getting what he wanted that he decided to let it go.

"So have we come to an agreement?" he ventured. He didn't want to push but he knew that if he didn't pin Eames down he'd never get a straight answer and then he wouldn't know for sure.

"I...." Eames didn't seem to be able to finish his sentence.

Arthur gave in to temptation and reached for Eames' forearm again, though this time he only grasped it in one hand, as lightly and unobtrusively as possible. 

"Just let me take care of you," he requested quietly.

Eames blinked rapidly, lashes fluttering. "Are you...."

He'd already set so much on the line by this point, had practically pleaded with Eames to let him help him. What was a little more honesty now? Maybe it was time to open himself up, exposing himself as much as he was requesting of Eames.

"From now on my hands are your scale, and my eyes are your mirror."

Eames' eyes went wide and startled, and Arthur was pretty sure that in this moment they were both hyper aware of the gentle hold he had on Eames' arm. He didn't remove his hand, though. Eames would reject him or not, but Arthur didn't intent to retract anything he had said or done. 

"That was... trite," Eames said, in tones of surprise. He didn't seem inclined to run, and Arthur took some small comfort from that fact.

"I meant every word," he told Eames steadily, maintaining eye contact and flexing his fingers, then sliding his grip carefully down to Eames' wrist, never once giving even the hint of letting go.

And Eames still wasn't pulling away.

Instead, Eames made a scoffing sound, but there was something wild and raw in his gaze, seeping through the flat mirror grey. "Careful, Arthur," he cautioned. "It's starting to sound as though you're propositioning me."

"Let's take this one thing at a time, okay," Arthur said, trying for a light tone, giving Eames a small smile. Maybe this wasn't the right moment for levity, and yet he didn't know how else to react. Anyhow, he knew how Eames felt about his dimples.

Arthur might be at a loss, but evidently Eames was not. In a lightning quick move that should have had Arthur recoiling equally fast but which somehow didn't, Eames leaned forward and planted his lips against Arthur's in a shallow but heavy kiss. 

It didn't last long, but it was long enough to blow Arthur's mind. Before he had quite caught up to the reality of it, Eames was drawing back, his expression unrepentant and possibly a little defiant.

"Prove it to me, Arthur," Eames challenged, and Arthur no longer had any idea what they were talking about.

Eames sat back and Arthur's spine strained to keep him upright. As the apartment settled into a sort of stunned silence around them, they sat there, staring at one another.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A year later I post the second half of this fic... once again for my birthday!
> 
> As noted on the first part, this fic is not meant to be an accurate portrayal of an eating disorder. I'm using my own experiences and behaviors as basis for Eames' thoughts and actions. (In fact, I'm the asshole who still pulls some of this stuff on my poor longsuffering partner. I definitely eat plenty, though, just not always as often as I should.)
> 
> I wrote this for myself, but I hope that anyone who reads it enjoys it! ^_^

Arthur licked his lips. Maybe not his best move ever, he thought, as Eames' gaze flickered down to his mouth and darkened, but he couldn't really help himself.

"That was... unexpected," he murmured, still feeling more than a little numb, trying to shake off that feeling because something very important had just happened here and he suspected it was going to continue happening, if only he didn't fuck everything up.

"Was it really?" Eames asked, arching a brow.

In pursuit of fairness, Arthur gave it a moment's thought but it didn't take him long to reach a conclusion. 

"Yes, actually." He nodded. "Yes, it was."

Eames seemed to fold into himself, completely losing every trace of confidence, real or feigned. "I'm sorry," he said, and his voice sounded small and hoarse.

Arthur shook his head again, more impatiently this time. "Don't apologize," he instructed firmly. "I said unexpected, not unwelcome."

Eames bit his lower lip, his expression torn. He looked as though he could either become hopeful or shattered in a matter of a moment. With one word from Arthur.

Having that kind of power over Eames was frankly a bit terrifying, Arthur thought. To be fair, he'd asked Eames to place his trust in him where the matter of his body was concerned.... Why should his heart be any different?

But that was getting way ahead of himself! Just because Eames had kissed Arthur, that didn't mean the man wanted anything more than a good tumble, right?

On the other hand, Eames had just asked Arthur to prove himself. Arthur had to take that challenge seriously. Because if he didn't, then how could he ask Eames to take his requests, his demands seriously?

"How do you want me to prove myself to you?" he asked. Because even more than the reality of Eames kissing him, that confounded him. He was in no way unwilling to do whatever Eames needed him to do, but he had to know what that _was_ first.

Eames stared at him blankly for a moment, and Arthur felt the corner of his mouth quirk up in a crooked little grin. 

"Do you even know?" he asked, trying not to arch his brows because he didn't want Eames to think he was mocking him, but pretty sure that he had failed miserably in that attempt.

At least Eames didn't seem to take this poorly. If anything he looked more sheepish than offended. His gaze skittered away, to the side and down, and he hid behind his long lashes. 

"I suppose that you've already gone a fair way toward proving yourself to me," he murmured, licking his lips. "Considering that you didn't toss me out on my arse after I kissed you."

Arthur smiled, amusing even though this was really a serious subject and a potential turning point for their entire relationship.

"Well, like I said," he offered, speaking as warmly as he was able without sounding insincere, "It wasn't unwelcome. I... I'm not sure where we're headed or what either of us wants, but I'm open to finding out together."

Eames peered at him out of the corner of his eye. "And you're not just humoring me?"

Arthur snorted. "I'm not pimping myself out to you to get my way, if that's what you're asking."

Eames' mouth dropped open, and he was meeting Arthur's gaze again, eyes round with shock. "I don't know whether to be indignant on your account or my own," he blurted, and Arthur actually laughed out loud.

"Eames," he said softly, reaching out and taking the man's hand. "I know that you're a gambler, but I doubt you would have made a move as bold as kissing me if you weren't fairly certain, even subconsciously, that I was interested."

Eames looked thoughtful, as though this might not have occurred to him. 

"Besides," Arthur continued, "I think we can both agree that we've been working toward something for a while now. We've managed to create a very mutually beneficial working relationship, and we're both physically attracted to one another. So why not make a push to take it to the next step? You got there before I did, but I'll admit that the idea has been playing around in my mind recently.... You were simply the one who was bold enough to make the first move."

Eames looked even more thoughtful and he was nodding slowly, though Arthur suspected it wasn't completely in agreement.

"Well, yes and no on that last," Eames drawled, his fingers finally clasping around Arthur's in turn, rather than hanging limply in his grip. "I was the one who kissed you, which was the first move physically.... But you are the one who invited me into your home and asked that you be allowed to look after my health. You were the one who made the first move emotionally. I merely reacted in kind... though rather more crassly, all things considered."

Arthur smiled softly and shook his head. "That was a romantic move, not a crass one," he informed Eames seriously. It had been a closed-mouth kiss, offering rather than demanding, nothing crass or carnal about it.

Eames flushed faintly and cast his gaze down again.

"You still haven't replied to my offer," Arthur reminded, because he'd probably only embarrass himself if they continued discussing the kiss. Eames shot him an incredulous look and Arthur grinned. "I meant the one where I keep you fed and make sure you only exercise when I do," he specified.

"Oh. Yeah." Eames hunched his shoulders slightly, but he was still looking wonderingly in Arthur's direction and he didn't pull his hand away. "I guess.... I guess it might not be such a hardship...."

"You're a grown man," Arthur said earnestly. "You're free to walk away any time you want." He bit his lower lip briefly, deciding that more honesty was better than not at this point. "I really hope that you won't, though," he added earnestly.

"No, I--" Eames broke off and shook his head, as though he was trying to clear it rather than in negation. "You've got a good point. You're natural slim, true, but you manage to maintain a lovely figure. If I eat the same as you do and exercise the same amount... it shouldn't do me any harm. Right?"

Arthur drew in a long, deep breath as slowly as he was able, trying not to be too obvious about it. But that was more of a concession than he had ever expected to get when he had put his offer forward. He was amazed and thrilled that Eames was willing to take him up on it. He was proud of Eames, but he wasn't stupid enough to tell the man so; he'd only feel that Arthur was being condescending again.

"Thank you," he said simply. He knew how much it must have cost Eames to make this admission, even if he couched it in easy terms and a light tone of voice. 

"Are we... are we good?" Eames asked quietly, peering at Arthur out the corner of his eye. 

Arthur couldn't help smiling, looking at Eames with undisguised fondness. "I'd think that would be _my_ question to ask," he stated, "Considering that I dragged you into my home and emotionally ambushed you."

Eames made a scoffing sound, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a subtle smile of his own. "You're housing and feeding me, and offering to help me, Arthur," he said, his hand still warm in Arthur's grip, neither of them moving to pull away. "I'm still not sure why you're willing to go to all this trouble, but...."

He trailed off as though unsure how to finish that sentence, but Arthur had no such handicap. "Eames, we're friends," he said, putting it out there boldly. Hinting at things, assuming things, it wasn't going to get them anywhere. They both had a lot of pride and neither of them wanted to get hurt or to expose potential weakness, but Arthur thought that by now he could trust Eames and he wanted Eames to know he could trust Arthur. 

There was no more reason to hide behind a mask of indifference when it was clear that he was far from indifferent. And there was no reason not to tell Eames how he felt in so many words, especially when Eames was so prone to taking anything he said the wrong way.

Eames' cheeks flushed an adorable pink. He was definitely too skinny, bordering on gaunt, Arthur noted, but he hadn't been feeding Eames a line when he'd said he looked good. He just... needed to put back on about twenty, twenty-five pounds or so and then maintain that weight. Arthur would make sure that this was what happened.

"Thank you," Eames murmured, his fingers tightening around Arthur's.

"For what?" Arthur asked, because he honestly didn't know.

"For... caring." Eames licked his lips and Arthur wondered if it was too soon to kiss him again. Probably, he thought regretfully. They still had a lot of issues to work through, even though they were pretty much on the same page right now. "For being a good friend."

Arthur bit back the urge to remind Eames that it was his own fault they were in this position, that he had triggered Eames into this unhealthy cycle of weight loss with his careless words. It wouldn't help, and Eames had already agreed to let Arthur try and repair the damage he had done.

"After all that we've been through," he said instead, "I think I'd be disappointed if we didn't consider one another friends."

Eames nodded slowly, looking thoughtful.

"Thank _you_ ," Arthur added, because he couldn't not, even though it might be a bad idea.

"For what?" Eames asked in turn, echoing Arthur's query and his confusion, his brows rising.

"For letting me help you," Arthur said, meeting and holding Eames' gaze levelly. "I know it isn't easy to give over control to someone else like that. I'm not sure I'd be strong enough to do it if our situations were reversed."

Eames stared at him for a few seconds, then smiled tightly. "I'm willing to try if you are."

"That's all I can ask." 

Arthur watched the tension in Eames' features melt into a more open expression that was no longer a smile but which seemed more at peace. "After all," he told Arthur, "We're friends, right?"

"We are."

***

Of course, despite ending their initial conversation and agreement on such a positive note, there was no way that _everything_ was going to go so smoothly. Arthur hadn't expected that it would be easy, but that didn't mean he wasn't disappointed when they hit their first speed bump the very next morning.

"I'm not much of a breakfast person," Eames drawled with deceptive calm as he poured himself some coffee. 

"We agreed, though," Arthur replied, keeping his tone equally calm, even though he was pretty sure he could see Eames' hands shaking where he was holding the mug and the coffee pot. Eames hadn't eaten nearly enough dinner the night before, and who knew when the last time before that was that he'd had food. 

"Three meals and I won't push you to eat snacks," Arthur insisted. "We can't go jogging or work out without having eaten first."

Eames pulled a face. "But I can't exercise _after_ I've eaten," he said, not quite whining but dangerously close to it. "It makes me heavy and logy."

Arthur bit back a grimace. He had to remain calm and rational. He had to convince Eames with carefully chosen words because he couldn't just sit on him and force him to eat. A s much as he might want to.

"That's why we're having something light and waiting half an hour before we set out," he replied, sipping his own coffee. He really should have asked Eames if he wanted tea instead, but it hadn't occurred to him when he had gone shopping the day before; he had been too occupied with stressing over their coming confrontation.

"I'm not trying to feed you eggs and bacon or bagels and cream cheese," he pointed out, internally mourning that he couldn't have delicious eggs and bacon for breakfast. Maybe once he'd eased Eames back into eating he could begin sneaking in _real_ vacation breakfast foods. "All I ask is that you have a yogurt and a granola bar. That's not going to make you feel heavy, I swear."

Eames was rubbing at his upper lip as he sat down across the table from Arthur, his other hand wrapped around his mug. He looked good in Arthur's apartment, still sleep tousled and heavy-lidded, but it was hard for Arthur to appreciate it when Eames was trying to weasel out of eating his breakfast.

"All right," Eames finally said, and he didn't sound happy about it, keeping his eyes fixed on the table top instead of meeting Arthur's eyes, but he'd said yes and that was what Arthur needed to hear. He couldn't give any ground this early in the game.... Not that this was a game; it was deadly serious and he was legitimately concerned about Eames' health.

"You could have a banana instead of the granola bar," he offered, sliding the yogurt cup and a spoon toward Eames. He'd already finished his own, as well as both a granola bar _and_ a banana.

Eames seemed to be considering it as he stabbed the spoon almost violently into his yogurt. "This is going to be hard," he said, and Arthur definitely echoed that sentiment, but then Eames flicked a quick glance up at him and his lips quirked in a slightly bitter little smile before going flat again, and he continued, "I mean, stopping running when you stop running. I'm used to going longer. Much longer."

Arthur nodded. "You know I'm not shortening my exercise routine for you," he said, because he wanted Eames to remember that part of his promise. "And I'm actually eating lighter this morning than usual."

"I'm sorry," Eames said, wincing slightly.

"No, it's fine," Arthur hurried to assure him. The last thing he wanted to do was making Eames feel bad about their agreement. He wasn't above guilting Eames in order to get his way, but he'd save that method for a situation more extreme than their first breakfast together. Especially since Eames had already agreed to eat this morning.

"I want you to be comfortable with this," Arthur added. "I want to make it as easy on you as I can."

Eames nodded, looking thoughtful. Arthur suspected that it would be very difficult if not nearly impossible for Eames to put that first spoonful of yogurt in his mouth with him watching, so he stood and collected his detritus. The empty yogurt cup went in recycling after being rinsed, the spoon went in the dishwasher, and the granola bar wrapper and banana peel went in the garbage. 

Then he went to get himself more coffee, taking his time with the sugar and cream. It felt really good to be in his home, going through his morning routines, and he took a moment to savor it, to set aside the stress of dealing with Eames -- self inflicted and vitally important as it was, it was still stressful -- and just enjoy being in his kitchen, smelling his coffee, and feeling warmth and safety wrapped all around him.

"I like it here, Arthur," Eames said, echoing Arthur's thought process to an eerie extent. Then again, Arthur was standing at the back balcony door, peering out at the overcast cityscape, so maybe it wasn't so out of the blue. He didn't have the world's most amazing view, not being willing to spend that much on an apartment he spent so little time in, but Seattle did stretch out before him quite attractively.

"Thanks," Arthur replied, sipping his fresh coffee and feeling mellow. "So do I."

"Are we going to get rained on?" Eames asked, and when Arthur turned back to the table he saw that most of the yogurt was gone and Eames was peeling the banana with a focused expression on his face. Arthur was _not_ going to nag at Eames to finish; he was just glad that he'd eaten as much as he had.

"I'll check," he said, setting his coffee down on the table and leaving the kitchen, fetching his laptop. He was pretty sure that Eames would be more comfortable eating without him in the room, and he wanted to make _sure_ that Eames ate.

When he returned, laptop open and connecting to the wireless he'd called to reactivate before even getting on the plane the day before, Eames was throwing out his own garbage. Arthur noted that he hadn't quite finished the banana either, a good third of it still in the skin, but he _had_ eaten. It felt like a huge triumph, and Arthur was going to quietly savor it. He wished Eames could see it as a triumph as well, but he suspected that the other man only saw it as a concession.

Eames wasn't doing this for himself; he was doing it for Arthur. But that was okay for now. As long as it got him actually _eating_.

"It's not forecast to rain," he informed Eames, sitting down at the table, setting down the laptop and picking up his coffee, sipping it as he squinted at the screen. "But that's never a guarantee. Don't bring anything with you that you wouldn't want to get wet."

Eames nodded. "So I should leave my fancy GPS system at home?" he asked, smirking at Arthur as he drained his coffee and rinsed out his mug before putting it in the dishwasher.

Arthur grinned back, feeling a burst of warmth in his chest that Eames was not only joking with him, but had used the word "home" to reference Arthur's apartment. Even though it was probably just a turn of phrase and not anything deliberately meant, it made Arthur feel good, thinking that he might be creating a safe haven for Eames to live in.

"You mean your phone?" he responded lightly. "Just stick with me and you won't get lost."

And, okay, maybe he meant that on more than one level, but he was okay with Eames only taking it for its surface meaning.

Eames was still smiling a little, and Arthur made use of his dimples, rewarding the other man for good behavior. He was just so glad that Eames had eaten his breakfast. Had he finished it all? No. But he'd _eaten_ and that was more than good enough for Arthur in this moment.

It felt like they were getting off to a good start. And while Arthur didn't expect any miracles, he hoped that it might only get better from here on out.

***

It was hard, deciding what to have for lunch. Arthur tried to leave it up to Eames, but when he asked, Eames just gave him a wide-eyed look, somehow appearing shameful and panicked at the same time.

"I don't... I don't know..." he stuttered, almost looking ready to run. Never mind that he'd literally been running just a few hours ago.

They had gone out jogging after waiting the requisite half hour, and Arthur had humored Eames to the point that he'd actually taken them for an extra lap around the nearest park, adding nearly twenty minutes to his usual run. He wasn't sure whether or not Eames recognized this fact, but Arthur didn't mention it and Eames hadn't said anything about the route other than to compliment Arthur on how scenic it had been.

Now they were home, they'd both showered, and they were both dressed in casual clothing, sitting in the living room. The television was on but Arthur had muted it to ask Eames his opinion on lunch. He didn't think either of them had really been watching it. anyway. Eames was resting on the sofa, paging through a photo book about the history of Seattle that Arthur kept on the coffee table, and Arthur was lounging in his recliner, messing around on his laptop, enjoying using the internet when he wasn't trying to mine it for information related to any jobs.

"What about sandwiches?" Arthur offered. He was going to be pushing Eames hard enough when it came to eating; it would be cruel to force him to choose what to eat if he didn't have a strong opinion on the matter.

Eames pulled a face but didn't reject the suggestion.

"I'll make you a sandwich, cut it in half, you only have to eat half now and we'll save the other half. And you don't need to have anything with it unless you want," Arthur continued, sitting up and setting his laptop on the coffee table. "Though I have plenty if you _do_ want. Chips or fruit or carrot sticks...."

"That sounds all right," Eames replied, speaking softly and slowly, closing his book and placing it back on the coffee table beside the laptop, then peering at Arthur sidelong. "You should only make the one half, though. Don't waste your time or money making the full sandwich."

Arthur didn't frown, he was careful to keep his expression neutral. "Humor me, please," he requested. "We got paid the same amount for our last several jobs, so you know as well as I do that I can afford to make a full sandwich even if you only eat half. And I like that you have the option, even if you don't take it."

Eames sighed heavily, but then immediately looked guilty. "Sorry, Arthur," he blurted, twisting his hands before him. "Thank you."

"It's not a problem," Arthur said, rising and running his hands through his hair. He felt jittery and anxious, even though Eames _had_ agreed to eat. It was only the first day, he tried to remind himself. He really shouldn't expect too much of the man. "I'm happy to do it, and I'm glad you're humoring me. It's something that means a lot, and I don't want to sound like an asshole, but you really can stop apologizing and thanking me. I appreciate it, but I'm doing this as much for myself as I am doing it for you."

He wasn't sure, as the words left his mouth, that he wasn't saying the completely wrong thing, but Eames didn't seem hurt or offended or upset in any way. He stared at Arthur, then smiled. It was a small smile, but it wasn't forced, and it made Arthur's heart ache to see it. In a good way.

"Can I make us dinner tomorrow night?"

Arthur blinked rapidly, thrown by the abrupt change of subject. "I.... Yeah, sure. Feel free to cook any time you like," he replied quickly, not wanting to lose this golden opportunity.

Eames was still smiling, faintly but fondly. "I'll try to stop saying thank you and sorry," he told Arthur earnestly. "But that doesn't mean I can't express my gratitude in other ways. I'm a fair hand in the kitchen, and I'd feel bad if you did _all_ the meal preparations. You're better at it than I am, granted, if dinner last night is any indication, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't do my fair share of the work."

Arthur nodded, and he couldn't help smiling back at Eames. He _wanted_ to smile, at Eames and in general.

He had Eames in his apartment. Relaxed and at ease. Eames was wearing loose slacks and an even looser top, and Arthur was going to focus on how adorable and sexy he looked rather than the fact that a few months ago these articles of clothing had probably fit. His hair was still tousled after his shower, and he looked just as happy to be sitting there reading a book as he looked after successfully completing a good job.

The scruff of stubble on Eames' jaw and upper lip looked indolent rather than rakish in this setting, and Arthur found himself amused to see that Eames had some crazy cowlicks at the crown of his head when his hair wasn't coated in product. He looked at home on Arthur's sofa, and this pleased Arthur even more than he had thought it would.

There was definitely a physical attraction here, as well as Arthur's undeniable feelings of friendship for Eames. He had grown to know and respect the man. He'd always found him to be desirable, even before they had gotten to know one another. In fact, that was probably why they had sort of gotten off on the wrong foot. Arthur knew better now. He knew _Eames_ better now, and he knew that he liked and respected him. 

Completely aside from his devilish good looks, Eames moved with the controlled intensity of a great cat, a predator surrounded by unsuspecting prey. But Arthur was a predator in his own right, though, so he had nothing to fear. 

Arthur had always been more lean and hungry than Eames... but, well, not so much anymore. He didn't regret the shift. Maybe it was time for them to reverse their dichotomy. Or, even better, it might be time for them to become more alike. 

He could feel Eames' eyes on him where he was standing, and that was fine because he'd been staring at Eames so turnabout was only fair. Arthur had dressed down so far that he had put on a pair of jeans, and he had a plaid button-up shirt of soft, worn flannel on over a white teeshirt. His hair was as free of product as Eames' was, and it was as untamed, though it tended to fall in floppy waves where Eames' stood up straight from his head in crazy clumps that nonetheless looked soft to the touch. Not that Arthur was going to get to touch.

Right now Arthur was as casual as Eames had ever seen him, in or out of the dreamshare, and he felt good about it. He might have had an ulterior motive for taking this break, it was true, but it _was_ a break. He was legitimately on vacation and he felt comfortable looking as though he was on vacation when he was around Eames.

He only hoped Eames felt the same around him. The way he was slouched on the sofa in wrinkling slacks and stocking-feet seemed a good indicator, Arthur thought. The heat in his eyes as they tracked over Arthur from head to toe was even more promising....

"Are we working out between lunch and dinner?" Eames asked, derailing Arthur entirely from his current train of thought.

This was so far from what Arthur had been thinking about that he just stared blankly for a long moment. Then he fought back the urge to sigh or roll his eyes, instead opting to answer the question seriously. He was still grateful that Eames had agreed to his terms; there had been no guarantee that Eames would and no real reason he should.

"Yes," he replied, and he spoke the word a little shortly, but he'd just been thinking slightly lascivious thoughts and here Eames was, talking about exercise. "About two hours after lunch, I think."

Eames, to his credit, looked a little sheepish, but he also looked relieved as he nodded. "Thanks," he said, softly, and Arthur accepted it even though they'd just had a discussion about that.

"I told you that I would take care of you," Arthur reminded Eames, trying to sound reassuring rather than annoyed. "I'm not going back on my word."

"No, I know," Eames said, and Arthur knew that he wanted to say he was sorry, but he managed to hold it in. "Do you want... do you want any help in the kitchen?"

Arthur took that offer as the apology he was sure it was, but he simply smiled and shook his head. "Thanks, but no. The sandwiches will take me all of five minutes to make, if that."

Eames pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. Arthur wondered what was going through his mind.

"Go ahead and stay in here," Arthur instructed easily. "I'll bring your plate to you."

Eames' brows rose. "We're not eating at the table?"

Arthur chuckled. "No. I like to be more informal where lunch is concerned. Breakfast and dinner at the table, but lunch wherever I want, and I want to eat in here. I trust you not to get crumbs all over my sofa."

Eames nodded. 

"And then after lunch, but before we work out, we can go grocery shopping, if you're okay with that," Arthur continued. "I got a few things yesterday, but we could use more food in the house, I'm nearly out of shampoo, and we're out of both fabric softener and dishwasher soap."

"That way I can pick up supplies for the dinner I'm going to cook tomorrow night," Eames added, with more enthusiasm than Arthur had expected for such a mundane, domestic errand. "Sounds good. And, of course, you'll let me pay for at least half our supplies?"

"I won't argue if you offer," Arthur grinned. This felt good; the easy conversation between them, the balance of power and the offer of fair shares where money was concerned. Arthur had been afraid when he'd put forward his offer of helping Eames that he'd come off seeming nagging or overbearing... but that didn't seem to be the case. At least for now, they were managing just fine.

"Turkey or beef?" he asked Eames as he stepped toward the kitchen. "It's all lunch meat, unfortunately, but I want to make sure it's something you'll enjoy."

"Turkey, please," Eames replied politely. Arthur wanted to wince at the disinterest in his voice, but he was just glad that Eames was willing to eat at all. "With mustard, no mayonnaise?"

"Stone-ground okay?"

Eames made an affirmative noise. 

"Avocado?"

Eames looked intrigued. "Sure."

"Bacon?"

Eames shook his head immediately. "Too fatty."

Arthur was _not_ going to point out that avocado was easily as fattening as bacon. He suspected Eames meant the taste more than the actual nutritional content. And he sympathized. Eames had been stinting himself food for far too long now. It was going to be for the best to keep the meals light, in flavor as well as amount.

"Bacon is delicious," he said mildly, teasing, and Eames rolled his eyes rather than apologizing or getting angry, which meant Arthur had gotten his intent across all right.

"Your loss," he shrugged, then went into the kitchen. Actually, it would be his loss as well. He didn't want to risk putting Eames off his lunch with the smell of cooking bacon filling his apartment. But he would soldier on, even without bacon, and the sandwiches he made would be delicious.

Even if he was only giving Eames half of the sandwich he made for him, it was going to be so good that Eames would eat it all before he even realized.

As far as goals went, Arthur didn't think this was a bad one.

***

Lunch went well and the grocery shopping was actually an enjoyable experience, but Arthur felt pretty awful once they began working out and Eames was nearly in tears.

"I just... still feel so full," he mumbled, and he looked so distraught that Arthur was flooded with guilt even though his request that Eames eat lunch had been completely reasonable, and it had been nearly two hours since the meal.

"It was only half a sandwich," he offered helplessly, rubbing Eames' hunched back in a manner he hoped was soothing. He refrained from also pointing out that Eames should have digested it by now, because that would be tantamount to calling Eames a liar and suggesting he didn't know his own body.

"I know, but...." Eames shrugged helplessly, not seeming to mind Arthur's hand on him, but still staying coiled in on himself rather than responding. "It makes me feel ill to try and exercise when I feel so full."

"All right." Arthur thought quickly. "So we leave the work-out _for now_." He emphasized the last when Eames raised his eyes to meet his gaze, looking panicked and almost angry. "We've got hours yet before it's time for dinner, right? So we go back to the apartment, maybe go for a walk, maybe take a nap. And then about seven o'clock we come back here and get in our work out before I start cooking."

Eames' indignation had melted away when it became obvious that Arthur wasn't going to try to take away his plans to exercise, was merely delaying them.

"Normally I prefer not to exercise directly after running," Arthur went on, frowning in thought. "But until your body begins functioning normally again we should probably shift our daily work-out to earlier, before lunch. That'll leave our afternoons free as well as the evening, so it might actually be an improvement."

Eames bit his lower lip, his lower lashes starred with dampness that neither of them acknowledged as threatened tears. He was pale but with a hard flush to his cheeks, and Arthur admitted internally that Eames probably really was feeling ill, no matter how long ago lunch had been and how little he had eaten. 

Arthur really had to be careful not to push too hard. Trying to get Eames to eat more would have to be a slow process. As would be reducing his time spent exercising. On his own, in fact, Arthur didn't work out every day. He didn't dare to tell Eames that right now, but maybe once things were more under control....

"I think that sounds like a good idea," Eames said earnestly, reaching over and squeezing Arthur's knee before removing his hand. "Both of the suggestions."

Arthur nodded and rose. Eames' back had been bony and hard underneath his palm, but he missed the sensation now that it was gone. Touching Eames wasn't part of the deal... but Eames had kissed him first. Arthur wasn't comfortable pursuing whatever sexual interest there might be between them until they were on more even footing -- when Arthur wasn't trying to police Eames' eating and exercise regime with Eames' reluctant permission to do so -- but physical contact might not be the worst thing he could offer.

He wasn't going to push, but Eames hadn't seemed to mind having Arthur rub his back. Arthur just wished that Eames wasn't so skinny. Well, they were working on it. Both of them, together.

"Walk and then nap?" Arthur asked, leading Eames out of the gym and toward the elevator. He didn't particularly _want_ to do either, but he knew that walking would be a low energy method of prompting Eames' body to work through the heaviness he was feeling, and he could see from the droop of Eames' eyelids that he might benefit from a few hours of rest after the walk.

"You don't have to," Eames demurred, his eyes lowered, hiding behind long lashes. He was turned toward Arthur, though, and as the elevator lurched into motion they stood closer to one another than they might have done if either of them had been sharing this ride with someone else. "Not if you don't want to."

"It hasn't started raining yet," Arthur replied, rather than lying about his nonexistent excitement over the afternoon's plan. "And I did promise to show you the city. It's no hardship. Seriously."

Eames shifted just a half a step closer to Arthur, already looking better than he had when he'd cut his work-out short with the complaint of feeling ill. "Thanks," he mumbled, so quietly Arthur barely heard him. 

Since they'd sort of agreed to stop saying that, Arthur didn't respond with "you're welcome," but he did reach over and clasp Eames' nearer hand briefly, giving it a squeeze before letting go. The elevator had come to a stop and he needed to get his keys out anyway.

Eames didn't seem to mind, and he was even smiling a bit as he and Arthur parted ways to go and change into street clothes for their proposed walk. 

***

After the rocky start of their first day, Arthur and Eames settled into a relatively comfortable routine.

Well, inasmuch as it could be when Eames still wasn't eating enough and Arthur didn't dare to try and push him too hard. He'd known this was going to require patience and tact, but knowing something and actually putting it into practice were two different things.

"I don't... Arthur, I'm not trying to be difficult, I swear, but I don't think I _can_."

Arthur nodded, trying to be understanding, very carefully remaining calm and relaxed. They'd been working at this for three days now, and Eames had actually eaten all of the lunch Arthur had served him that afternoon... only to balk at eating dinner.

"Look, it's obviously an act of willpower when you go without eating, right?" Arthur asked, trying to sound calm and completely rational. He didn't want to push or nag, but he absolutely couldn't let Eames get away with skipping a meal.

"Wrong."

Arthur blinked at the flat answer, spoken with such certainty. "What?"

Eames smirked, looking smug and ashamed at the same time. Sheepish, Arthur thought distractedly. It was a good look for him, actually, but Arthur didn't like the reason behind it.

"It's remarkably easy to go without eating," Eames explained to Arthur in even tones, as though he was choosing his words carefully, as though he wanted Arthur to _understand_ what was incomprehensible to him. "It's always easier to _not_ do something than it is to _do_ something."

Arthur was silent a moment, processing this. He didn't really understand, he definitely didn't agree, but he thought he could see where Eames was coming from. Sort of.

"But when you're hungry...?" he ventured curiously, not quite sure how to finish his question, leaving it hanging instead.

Eames shook his head. "I'm not hungry right now."

Arthur didn't argue. He'd discovered in the last several days that Eames wasn't always aware of what his body needed. He could be weak to the point of trembling and still maintain that he wasn't hungry. He might complain about his stomach hurting and blame it on the coffee he'd drunk rather than the fact that he hadn't had breakfast yet. Arthur found it a little terrifying, that Eames was so disconnected from his own physical reactions to things, but that was part of what he was trying to help Eames to fix.

"Not right now," he pursued, letting that go even though Eames probably _was_ hungry but didn't actually know it. "I mean... when you _are_ hungry and you don't eat. I mean, back before I invited you to stay here and started feeding you regularly. When you're hungry and don't eat, how does that work?"

Eames looked a little surprised, but nodded. "I see. Well, when I'm hungry but I don't need to eat, if I ignore the hunger long enough it goes away. In fact, it goes away quite quickly."

This idea was more than a little frightening to Arthur, but he knew better than to tell Eames so. 

"When I'm hungry, I just get more hungry until I eat," he stated, as mildly as he was able.

Eames titled his head and shrugged. "It's just different for me, I guess," he replied.

Arthur wondered if it was different because Eames' body was different, or if he'd managed to _make_ it change by starving himself. Either way, he needed to talk Eames around to eating at least a little of his dinner. Maybe it was time to bring out the big guns and play to Eames' guilt. If he could manage to do so without being too obvious....

He slid his gaze away from Eames and to the taco casserole on the countertop. Maybe it had been a mistake making something so rich when he knew Eames had eaten almost a full serving of lunch. So he wouldn't try guilt after all. Instead, he would offer a compromise.

"How about," he suggested, "I'll refrigerate this, and we'll have this for either lunch or dinner tomorrow. I'll heat up some soup and dish you a full bowl, and I won't bitch if you only eat half of it. But you have to try to eat at least half, okay?"

Eames' full lips curved down in a frown. "I'm sorry, Arthur," he huffed, fingers twisting together in his lap. "If I thought I could, I would try. Honestly."

Arthur stepped over to the table. The casserole smelled delicious, and he might have a healthy helping before refrigerating it, just make the soup for Eames. 

"Don't apologize," he instructed, placing a hand on Eames' shoulder. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought maybe it wasn't so bony. Rock hard with muscle, yes, but he thought Eames might be putting some weight back on. He hoped. "I'm not here to force you to anything. I'm trying to help you."

Before Eames could respond, Arthur boldly leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his temple. Eames' fly-away hair tickled his nose, and then he turned and went to the cupboard for a can of soup. He was perfectly fine with making this compromise, as long as Eames _ate_.

"If I were at all hungry, that would smell delicious," Eames spoke up hesitantly as Arthur opened the can and got the soup heating on the stovetop. "You're a marvelous cook, Arthur."

"You're not too bad yourself," Arthur replied, turning and giving Eames a warm smile. He didn't want Eames to think he was upset over the change in dinner plans, and he hoped there wouldn't be any awkwardness between them because of the spontaneous kiss he'd just given Eames.

Eames didn't seem to mind, and the fact was that there had been some casual but meaningful touches between the two of them since they had arrived here in Seattle, since Eames had kissed Arthur on the sofa that first night. Nothing overtly sexual. A hand on a shoulder. A quick pat on the back. A squeeze of a thigh.

Arthur's kiss had been a bit more than usual, but he had no regrets. He wanted to let Eames know that he mattered to him, and it had just felt _right_ in that moment.

"I like to cook when there's someone to cook for," Eames said, sipping at the glass of water he'd gotten while they were waiting for the casserole to finish baking. Arthur kept trying to get him to drink juice but he claimed it gave him heartburn and stuck to water after his morning coffee. "Otherwise, there doesn't seem much point."

Arthur stirred the soup, nodding but not agreeing, because he didn't, really. He wasn't going to argue, though. They were having a nice evening, despite the fact that Eames was feeling too full to have casserole, and he didn't want to risk spoiling it.

"I really am sorry," Eames said as Arthur poured the soup in to a bowl. "I just...."

"No, it's fine," Arthur assured him. "I'm actually going to have some of the casserole tonight while it's fresh out of the oven, but it really does reheat well. We'll eat it tomorrow. As long as you have some soup tonight, it's all good."

"I'm doing better," Eames offered meekly as Arthur set the bowl down in front of him. He was looking up at Arthur with such a puppy-like stare that Arthur almost wanted to kiss him again. Forehead or mouth, he wasn't sure. He didn't do either, though. "I'm actually trying, Arthur."

"I know, and I appreciate it," Arthur said, scooping out a healthy portion of taco casserole for himself. Not to mock Eames, but because he was hungry. "I know it's not easy and I'm asking a lot of you, and I want to say again that you're free to leave at any time." He put a generous dollop of sour cream on top of his casserole, joined Eames at the table, and gave him a friendly smile. "But I'm very glad that you're not, that you're staying and trying. Thank you."

"You make me want to try," Eames said simply, raising a spoonful of soup to his mouth without hesitation.

And, honestly, what more could Arthur ask for?

***

Aside from that first kiss and their tendency to let fingers linger in casual brushes against arms, backs, and waists, Arthur and Eames hadn't taken their admitted mutual attraction any further. 

Arthur wasn't comfortable making a move when Eames was still struggling to overcome his issues. And so far Eames hadn't made any more obvious overtures. Not that Arthur expected him to; he was still a little amazed that Eames had been the one to kiss him first. Pleased, but surprised.

They ate breakfast together, they jogged and worked out in the morning, they had lunch, then spent the afternoons either doing touristy things or relaxing in the apartment. Arthur would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he'd like to be having sex instead, but they weren't there yet.

That wasn't to say that Eames didn't look one hundred percent edible -- horribly tacky pun most definitely _not_ intended -- whether he was wearing his work-out clothes, dressed up for dinner out, or just padding around the kitchen in his pajama bottoms. As they spent more time together, Eames seemed to give up all body shyness, and Arthur was treated to the sight of him shirtless first thing in the morning, which was as enthralling as it was distressing.

Distressing because Eames was still too thin. Enthralling because he looked good, regardless, and because he _was_ shirtless.

Arthur was actually quite excited that Eames was willing to let Arthur view his bared torso. He'd have been far more concerned if Eames had been trying to hide his body from view instead. It seemed to be a good sign that he didn't hide.

And he looked good. Arthur had hidden his scale in the very back of his closet and refused to let Eames get on the one the building kept down in the gym. So Arthur had no way of being sure, but he thought that Eames had put on at least five pounds since Arthur had begun looking after him, possibly more. He'd channeled all of it into muscle, true, but as long as he wasn't as frighteningly skinny as he had been threatening to become, Arthur took this as progress.

Eames was still lean, still even more slender than Arthur was himself, but he wore it well. Arthur wasn't going to be satisfied until Eames had put a bit more weight on, and yet he had to admit to himself that Eames was looking very desirable.

It didn't hurt that there was also a level of intimacy indicated by this display of Eames' trust that made Arthur feel proud at the same time he was concerned that he might somehow screw things up. So far Eames had been remarkably tractable. And if it was still the lingering effects of Arthur saving his life after he'd gotten that bad dose... well, Arthur wasn't above using it to his advantage, when doing so was to Eames' advantage as well.

It had been five days since they had arrived in Seattle and Arthur had seen Eames with bed-head, he'd seen him barefoot, and he was now looking at the man wandering around his kitchen in nothing but a pair of cotton pajama bottoms, pouring himself some coffee as Arthur cooked them an omelet.

Eames had, in turn, seen Arthur with no pomade in his hair, had seen him with stubble, and had seen him flushed with exertion after a long run. Right now Arthur was wearing an old college sweatshirt over a pair of baggy jeans, and he wasn't the least bit self-conscious about it. 

He was pretty sure that they were comfortable with one another by this point. And completely apart from the stress and reward of getting Eames back to a healthy weight again, Arthur was glad he'd invited the man to spend his spontaneous vacation with him. 

Eames was fun to spend time with. He was intelligent and witty, and now that they weren't clashing over how to do a job, Arthur had discovered that their senses of humor were very simpatico, though of course not exactly alike.

What was important was that Arthur laughed at Eames' jokes, and Eames laughed at Arthur's jokes.

Equally important was the fact that either of them felt like joking, much less both of them at once. Eames really was doing well, and Arthur was _so_ proud of him. No matter how much incentive and encouragement Arthur gave him, Eames was the only one who could really make a change, and he seemed to be trying. Really, honestly trying.

Arthur carefully portioned out the omelet, giving Eames a little more than one third of it. Yes, Eames was doing better, but Arthur was taking baby steps, unwilling to ruin it all by pushing too hard. One-third of a golden omelet with mushrooms, green onion, and diced sausage cooked into it was going to be plenty for Eames. It was also more than he had eaten his first morning here, and Arthur really hoped that Eames would finish his portion.

"Thank you," Eames mumbled into his coffee, still looking half asleep. It was adorable and sexy, and Arthur was just so incredible grateful that he got to see Eames like this, that Eames trusted him enough to sit here in his kitchen and yawn without covering his mouth.

"Welcome," Arthur replied, battling the urge to grab Eames and kiss him breathless. They were still working toward that, he thought. And over an omelet that they really ought to be eating was probably a bad time to enact a seduction.

Not that seduction was his plan, Arthur chided himself, digging into his breakfast. That would be presuming too much. He knew that Eames was still feeling beholden to him, and while he was confident that there was nothing questionable about their attraction to one another -- which had existed long before the disastrous job that had jumpstarted this whole situation -- it was still just a little too dangerous, in his mind, to go pouncing on the other man without receiving some kind of clear signal first.

Of course, this virtuous resolve couldn't last without being sorely tested... though Arthur wouldn't have thought he'd find himself poking at the boundaries of his morals just as soon as they were through eating....

It started out innocently enough, as such things so often did. Arthur had just put their empty dishes in the sink, running some water to soak them, and when he turned he caught Eames standing beside the table, clasping his raised upper arm in white fingers, feeling at the muscle.

Without speaking, Arthur stepped over and replaced Eames' hand with his own. Eames' bicep was rock-hard, no trace of fat to be felt. That wasn't bad, necessarily, but for some reason Eames looked ashamed.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, not releasing his grip on Eames' arm even as Eames lowered it back down to his chest. His bare chest that Arthur really was standing too close to. He wasn't about to move, though.

"I...." Eames bit his lower lip and cast his gaze to one side, away from Arthur.

Arthur arched a brow, waiting.

"I've been..." Eames sighed heavily, "Doing push-ups when I'm alone in my room. Sit-ups too. But not a lot, Arthur, I promise you," he continued, raising his gaze to meet Arthur's. "I just... when I can't sleep I need to keep moving. I'm not doing it to try to sabotage your efforts."

Arthur nodded. He wasn't going to lie and say he wasn't disappointed, but he sympathized with Eames' plight. He still thought it was still something of a miracle that the man had been willing to hand over his care and keeping to Arthur in the first place. That he had slipped in this way... well, Arthur didn't feel he could really blame him, even if he wasn't happy about it.

"At least you're eating what I give you," he said, smiling at Eames in what he hoped was an encouraging but not flippant manner. "I'm really proud of you for that, Eames, and I'm _not_ being facetious or condescending. You're doing really well." 

"Well, I was trying to prove you wrong, wasn't I?" Eames replied, equally lightly, though the smile he offered Arthur was a bit sheepish. " I guess we can agree that you've more than proven your point by now, though."

"I just want you to be healthy." Arthur was hyper-aware of the hand he still had clasped around Eames' upper arm but he didn't make a move to let go. "That's why I'm doing this; not in any attempt at proving myself right."

Eames nodded. "I know, I got it, thank you."

"I told you," Arthur said, and now he moved his hand, allowing his fingers to trail down Eames' arm, coming to rest around Eames' wrist, pads pressed to the pulse beating against the thin skin there, "My hands are your scale."

"And what is your scale telling you?" Eames asked, his voice suddenly more husky than usual, his gaze steamy as he met Arthur's eyes.

Arthur dared to touch, couldn't really stop himself even though it was a bad idea, pressing his hand to Eames' belly. He could feel Eames' abdomen muscles bunching tight and hard under his palm, Eames' torso moving as he breathed beneath Arthur's spread fingers. 

As they stood there in silence, Eames waiting and Arthur trying to figure out what he was doing and why he was doing it and whether he should stop, whether he _could_ stop, he glanced down. His hand looked _right_ there, resting on Eames' stomach above his pajama bottoms. Eames was all muscle and sinew, and while Arthur couldn't laud the reason behind it, he could appreciate what Eames' efforts as far as exercise had brought about.

In short, Eames looked _good_ , and Arthur wasn't afraid to say so.

"You're doing better," he replied honestly, and his own voice was low and raw, but he felt no embarrassment. He didn't move his hand, either. Maybe it was wrong, but he didn't feel as though he was taking advantage of Eames or anything. And Eames certainly wasn't protesting.

"You're doing amazing," he corrected, before Eames could respond. Though he didn't seem inclined to do so, staring at Arthur with an almost startled expression and a mounting heat in his cheeks. The pink made him seem even more healthy, and Arthur once again had to fight to urge to lean in and kiss him soundly. Not that he thought Eames would mind at this point.

"Thanks," Eames breathed, standing perfectly still.

Arthur left his hand where it was, not wanting to pull away, not daring to drag Eames in closer. Instead, he elaborated on his reply to Eames' query.

"You've gained back a little weight, and don't panic about it because that's a good thing. It's all muscle, anyway. You're getting closer to the weight you should be. I'm still giving you smaller portions than I'm giving myself, and we're exercising more, plus you just told me you're doing extra, but that's okay. We'll get there. You're eating enough to get by, even though I feel you should be eating more. You're taking time to relax as well as spending time working out. It's going so much better than I expected -- especially after less than a week -- but we've still got a ways to go."

Eames was staring at him with an unreadable expression , and Arthur hoped he hadn't been _too_ honest. He didn't want to sugarcoat things, but he didn't want to discourage Eames either.

"You really are mad for putting up with me like this," Eames finally said, speaking softly, almost intimately. He seemed to be leaning toward Arthur, but that might just be his imagination.

"I'm doing it because I want to," Arthur replied candidly. "If I didn't want it, I wouldn't do it."

Eames didn't respond verbally but instead took a step into Arthur's space, arms coming up to ring Arthur's neck, forearms pressing on his shoulders, hands clasped behind his neck. Arthur's own hands moved easily, sliding around Eames' waist, coming to rest on the dip of Eames' lower back, right about the swell of his tight rear end. He was warm and hard beneath the worn material of his pajama bottoms, and his face was so close that Arthur went a little cross-eyed trying to focus. 

Just for a moment, though, and then he let his eyes slide closed as Eames tilted his head slightly and moved in to press a warm kiss against his mouth. Like that first night they had been here in Arthur's apartment, only now they'd come to more of an understanding of sorts, and Eames was half naked.

"We've got a good hour before it's time to set out jogging," Eames breathed against Arthur's lips as he broke the kiss. His words tingled over pressure-bruised skin and Arthur barely processed what Eames was saying. He was glad once he managed to make himself listen, though. Especially when Eames continued; "How about we take that time to celebrate my modest daily triumph of eating breakfast?"

He said this was though it was a joke, but they both knew how serious the situation was. And Arthur was pretty sure they both knew how much the two of them wanted this. He hadn't been comfortable making the first move, but now that Eames had done so, Arthur wanted to make sure that Eames realized he found him desirable; neither too skinny nor too fat.

Well, technically Eames was still too skinny. But he was doing better and Arthur felt that this alone was reason for both triumph and celebration. 

"Let's go to my room," he suggested, emboldened by the fact that Eames _wanted_ him. Hopefully as much as he wanted Eames. And since they were two grown men who had at least a passing awareness of their own thoughts and feelings, and since they both _wanted_ , there was absolutely no reason not to indulge.

Eames sucked in a little breath, as though he hadn't expected this response, but his eyes were bright as Arthur stepped away from him, clasping Eames' hand in his own and tugging gently.

They'd only exchanged two kisses, both close-mouthed and relatively chaste, but the intent was there, and Arthur wasn't planning on leaving the bedroom until they'd both gotten off at least once. He had _goals_ , and tasting Eames' tongue with his own was only one small part of it.

"This is nice," Eames said, peering curiously around as Arthur led him into his bedroom, still holding his hand. It was the largest room in the apartment and easily the most grand. While the guest room was perfectly acceptable and the kitchen was actually Arthur's favorite place to spend time when he was here, he had to admit that he'd taken extra care in decorating and furnishing his bedroom.

Which was kind of a shame, because....

"You're the first person beside myself to see this room," he told Eames, not hesitating for so much as a moment before he let go of Eames' hand and peeled his sweatshirt off.

"Really?" Eames sounded blatantly shocked, and Arthur chuckled. He could possibly have been offended by this tone, but he actually wasn't. Hell, it had been so long since he'd had sex that he felt more flattered by Eames' disbelief than anything else. 

"You're the first person I've trusted enough to share my apartment with," Arthur told Eames earnestly, stepping in close and meeting his eyes, "Much less my bedroom. Much less my body."

Eames turned a vibrant red, which startled Arthur as much as it charmed him. He'd have pegged Eames as being the type to be blase and unflappable about sex, but here he was, blushing like a schoolgirl.

"Really, Arthur?" he huffed, sounding a bit breathless already.

Arthur smirked, and instead of sassing Eames in reply, he dragged him into his arms and plastered his mouth over Eames'. Twice now Eames had been the one to kiss him first; it was Arthur's turn to initiate things.

Never mind that it had essentially been Eames who had gotten them going this time as well. Eames had only kissed him; Arthur had been the one to invite Eames into his bedroom.

Dragging his tongue over the crease between Eames' plump lips, Arthur boldly demanded entrance, and with a low noise that most definitely wasn't a protest, Eames complied, his mouth falling open, letting Arthur inside.

They'd both just had an omelet, so Arthur might have wished they'd brushed their teeth, but at least Eames tasted mostly of coffee. Sweet and bitter at once, strong and dark.... The simile might be a bit of a stretch, but Arthur had waited a very long time to kiss Eames like this; deeply and thoroughly. He was going to enjoy every damned moment of this experience.

At the same time he thrust his tongue slick and hot into Eames' mouth, Arthur slid his hands around his waist again. Eames was still too slender, but he was solid beneath Arthur's hands, all muscle, and Arthur would have been lying if he'd said he didn't find this sexy as hell.

One of Eames hands made its way to the nape of Arthur's neck as they deepened the kiss, his fingers powerful, his nails blunt where they bit lightly at Arthur's skin. There was still about an inch between their bare chests, body heat filling the space with the mingled scent of their rising arousal.

Deciding that there was no reason to play coy when they both wanted the same thing, Arthur went for it, reeling Eames in and grabbing his ass in both hands, discovering with no surprise that it was just as tightly muscled as the rest of him was.

Eames let out a whining sound that was as much adorable as it was a turn-on, and squirmed in Arthur's arms. Not to try and escape being manhandled, Arthur thought smugly, squeezing his double handful and licking at Eames' tongue as he moved to pull his mouth away, but more as though he was over-stimulated.

And that was simply in response to some over-the-clothes groping. Arthur couldn't wait to get Eames naked and on his bed.

They were pressed close now, chest to chest, and Arthur wasn't likely to mistake Eames' enthusiasm; not when his dick was punching against the front of his pajama bottoms, straining toward Arthur's answering hard-on.

The jeans were going to have to go, Arthur thought feverishly, even as he bent his head to nose at the taut line of Eames' neck, taking in his scent, still musky with sleep but clean at the same time. Along with Eames' pants. In fact, the sooner they were both completely naked, the happier Arthur was going to be.

Eames as well, he suspected, flexing his fingers and shifting his hips closer to Eames', slowly and deliberately grinding their erections together. Eames still had a fierce grip on Arthur's neck, his free hand trailing over the muscles of Arthur's upper back, his head falling down so that he could lip at Arthur's throat in turn.

Arthur loved this, the give and take of two strong men screwing. Even though Eames was still on his way back to full health, he was pretty nearly a match for Arthur as he was now. Neither of them would have to gentle or careful, not unless they wanted to be. They both knew it, and Arthur was pretty sure they both appreciated it equally.

"Off," Arthur ordered, perhaps a little less articulately than he'd have liked, but Eames had just latched onto that sensitive spot where his neck and shoulder met, and was evidently intent on sucking a hickey into the vulnerable skin there.

Without waiting for Eames to respond to his command, Arthur hooked his thumbs under the elastic of his waistband and pulled the pajama bottoms down the tight swell of Eames' ass, doing his best to get the article of clothing on its way to the floor.

He was absolutely one-hundred percent _not_ surprised to discover that Eames wasn't wearing anything underneath. 

Arthur himself had boxers on, but those came off readily enough along with his jeans as he took a step back and shoved them down his thighs into a puddle on the floor that he then gracefully stepped out of.

"Exquisite," Eames breathed, giving Arthur a long, lingering once-over from head to toe, with a distinct pause at his crotch. Arthur wasn't even sure Eames knew he had spoken aloud, but whether Eames had meant him to hear or not, he took it as a compliment.

"You too," he smirked, eyeballing Eames' exposed genitals. Not that the entire package wasn't appealing. Despite his need to gain back some weight, Eames did look good. But Arthur was mostly fixated on that rapidly hardening, marvelously uncut dick that was just begging for some attention.

He might need to get that in his mouth at some point today, he thought absently, but most of his attention was focused on getting Eames on his mattress and underneath him. Right now they were standing awkwardly just as close to the door as the bed, and while being naked was a definite improvement, they had a ways yet to go.

"Bed," Arthur pointed, and Eames caught his eye a moment before bursting into delighted laughter.

"I'd never have thought that the promise of sex would turn you into a positive Neanderthal," Eames chortled, far too delighted by this for Arthur's good. It made him feel happy, though, to hear Eames speaking so lightly, to be able to joke with one another even now. Especially now.

"Would you rather I asked politely?" Arthur asked archly, turning and walking to the bed himself. He could, if he really needed to, probably force Eames over there and toss him on the mattress.... And he kind of thought that Eames might like being handled roughly. But now was not the time for that. Maybe later.

"I always knew you were hiding a delicious arse under those pleated trousers of yours," Eames murmured, moving to follow Arthur perfectly willingly and gratifyingly quickly. He'd ignored the question, but Arthur could appreciate that he'd gotten distracted.

Arthur refrained from pointing out that Eames had seen him in his work-out pants multiple times, instead unabashedly using his pale ass as a lure to get Eames into his bed. He was ready to be done with talking. 

Right now he wanted to get his hands all over Eames, wanted Eames to touch him in return, and then he wanted to get both of them off. At least once, preferably more than once. Maybe if he was good enough in bed, he might distract Eames from their run and subsequent round of exercise. Arthur didn't _mind_ working out every day, but it wasn't his idea of a fun vacation. He only indulged Eames because he could tell the man really did need it. As evidenced by the fact that he did extra exercise on his own.

That was going to have to stop, but right now Arthur had other things on his mind. And he might use the pending sex between them as a tool, but he was not about to use it as a bargaining chip. Those were two completely different things.

They tumbled together onto the bed, and Arthur was actually impressed that they managed this maneuver without doing one another any harm. 

Arthur somehow ended up on top of Eames, a position he was absolutely not unhappy with in the slightest, propped on his elbows with Eames legs spread to either side of him and Eames' arms wrapped around Arthur's neck and shoulders despite his earlier fascination with Arthur's ass.

They were of a height, so this brought them together, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, and groin to groin, all the way down. Arthur was a little less than pleased that this position hampered his ability to slide his hands over Eames' body, but he made up for it by digging his knees into the mattress and shifting against Eames, nothing vigorous, only a grinding motion meant to titillate.

Eames let out a whining sound into their renewed kiss, squirming underneath Arthur, his dick hard and already leaking. Arthur wanted more than ever to get his mouth on it, but that would have meant moving, would require him to stop fucking into Eames' hot and eager mouth with his tongue, and he wasn't about to give that up. Not just yet, anyway.

And now Eames' hands began roaming, tracing shiver-soft patterns down the muscles of Arthur's back, hesitating at the top of his ass cheeks, then just going for it. Arthur ground down as Eames' fingers dug into his buttocks the way his had done earlier when he'd had his own hands on Eames' ass, and he dragged his lips away from Eames' in order to breathe, then he shifted slightly in order to set his teeth in the side of Eames' neck.

Eames tipped his head back, fingers spasming, dick jumping between them, and since he evidently liked the biting, Arthur did it again. Just hard enough to hurt a little, and Eames gasped, arching under him. There wasn't the slightest hint of resistance, and Arthur trusted Eames would let him know if he didn't like this. Completely opposite to that, Eames' hard, throbbing dick clearly indicated that he had enjoyed it, probably even more than Arthur had.

If they had still been working in the dreamshare, there would have been no way Arthur would have marked Eames where someone might see, they would have needed to maintain a professional appearance. But they were on break, and Arthur thrummed with possessive heat at the idea of anyone who looked at them when they were out of the apartment knowing what they had been doing, what Eames had let Arthur do.

To be painfully honest, Arthur had imagined their first time together being hard and fast, all heavy breathing and greedy hands grasping, both of them coming quickly and senses left reeling. 

And, yes, he _had_ imagined their first time, more than once.

But what he found was that now that he had Eames in his arms, he actually wanted to slow down and take his time, get to know what Eames liked and allow Eames to do the same for him in turn. As far as Arthur could tell from Eames' reactions the other man didn't seem to have any quarrel with this approach.

Before too long they wound up lying on their sides, legs entwined but no more urgent press and slide of eager erections between their bellies. They kissed, languid and deep, then took turns licking throats, nipping at collarbones, and eventually Arthur made his way far enough down Eames' chest that he was able to suck a pert nipple into his mouth.

Eames groaned, back arching, hands suddenly buried in Arthur's hair, as responsive here as a woman might be. Arthur was well aware that his own nipples weren't this sensitive, but he was unsurprised to find that things were different for Eames.

After that it was all something of a blur. A heated, stimulating, inflaming blur of sexual give and take, of mounting pleasure. Arthur had meant to get Eames' uncut hard-on in his mouth, but somehow he ended up sprawled on his back against his pillows, staring down in fascination at those gorgeous thick, red lips stretched so perfectly around his own dick as Eames gave him what was absolutely _the_ most skilled blowjob he had ever gotten.

Even with Eames' talented mouth, it was something of a struggle. Arthur knew without any false modesty that he was well-endowed, his dick both thicker and longer than average. Eames had commented on this gleefully, as pleased as though it was a gift delivered just for him. He had to strain a little to take in the whole thing, but he was game, and it was just about the sexiest thing Arthur had ever seen in his life, watching his spit-slick shaft slide in and out between Eames' swollen lips, watching him shift over top of Arthur's groin in order to deep-throat him, feeling the head of his dick bumping up against the top of Eames' throat....

Perhaps not surprisingly, Arthur didn't last long before he felt orgasm building at the base of his dick, his balls pulling up tight and heavy. He managed to grunt out a warning to Eames, half expecting him to pull off, wondering if Eames would let him come on his face. But instead, Eames only sucked harder, pulling up only halfway and then thrusting the flat of his tongue rhythmically against the head of Arthur's dick, pretty much guaranteeing that he wasn't going to last another full minute.

Sure enough, Arthur spilled his load, all over Eames' clever tongue, his hands clenching in the bedcovers, ever muscle in his body tensing at once before releasing in languid pleasure.

"Damn, you're good at that," he huffed, struggling to catch his breath, as Eames rested his head on his lower stomach, nuzzling the soft skin at top of his pubes, breathing hot against Arthur's still tingling dick, his hand running warm and heavy over Arthur's inner thigh. Arthur sank his own hand into Eames' hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, struggling to pull himself together enough to return the favor, wanting this even more than he wanted to wallow in the moment and enjoy his afterglow.

Eames didn't answer, just gave a happy hum and pressed his lips against the dark line of Arthur's glory-trail, leaving them there in an extended kiss that felt unbearably intimate and borderline ticklish. Arthur carded his fingers through Eames' hair, giving himself another minute or two, but he could see Eames' hips moving restlessly where he was sprawled on his stomach between Arthur's spread legs, and he knew he needed to pull it together and reverse their positions. Eames wasn't humping the mattress, yet, but he'd gotten Arthur off quite spectacularly, and now it was Arthur's turn to get him off.

Completely aside from the concept of fair-play, Arthur _wanted_ to get his mouth on Eames. He might not be quite as skilled at the art of the blowjob as Eames was, but he was no slouch, plus he figured enthusiasm would count for a lot as well.

And once he got Eames chivvied up and around, settled in his place against the pillows, Arthur set about proving this theory. Eames seemed receptive, and if his grasping hands and low sounds of pleasure where any indication, Arthur was doing more than passable.

Arthur hadn't had many lovers with a foreskin, so he took a little extra time playing with that, more for himself than Eames, up to the point that Eames growled for him to "get on with it, dammit." Since Arthur had no intention of tormenting the man who had given him such a satisfying orgasm, he did indeed get on with things, plunging down and taking Eames' hard-on in his mouth as deeply as he could manage in the first go, letting his fingers make up the difference. He wasn't blind; he knew that Eames had a thing for his hands. It wasn't so much a lack of ability that had Arthur using his hand as well as his mouth to get Eames off, as it was an indulgence of Eames' obvious kink.

Yeah, maybe Arthur was a little out of practice... but he was planning on remedying that as quickly as possible.

In the past, Arthur had always found giving a blowjob after already having come himself to be sort of anticlimactic; quite literally. But not now. With Eames it was different. 

Every salty flavor that burst over his tongue, every low noise of pleasure that Eames made, the way his stomach muscles flexed restlessly under Arthur's palm, the throbbing of his erection in Arthur's mouth and other hand... they all sent constant waves of sensual warmth through Arthur. Even though his dick was completely spent and growing increasingly more limp between his thighs, Arthur felt as though there was still a sensation of low-grade arousal buzzing through him, as though his climax had become something gentle but persistent, filling him with pleasure that faded but didn't vanish.

Evidently giving Arthur head had turned Eames on as much as it did Arthur now that roles were reversed, because he didn't last long either, once Arthur stopped teasing and seriously got to it. 

Arthur didn't go for finesse, just plunged down until his lips were pressed to his thumb and forefinger, sucking hard, and internally delighting in the fact that he was able to bring Eames off so quickly.

While he appreciated the fact that Eames had swallowed, Arthur wasn't feeling quite that adventurous, and so he pulled off as soon as he felt Eames pass the point of no return, his hot, hard dick pulsing in Arthur's hand. Remembering what he himself had visualized, Arthur let the first two spurts hit him on the lips and chin, before he clasped his hand over the head of Eames' dick and caught the rest of it in his palm, pearly trickles running down the saliva-streaked sides of Eames' shaft.

Eames didn't seem to have any problem with this choice, his gaze fixed on Arthur's face once the initial rush of his climax had passed, eyes dark and intent rather than hazed with spent sexual tension. 

Arthur smirked, sitting up and rubbing away the majority of the mess on his chin with one wrist while still cradling Eames' spent dick with his other hand. 

"That was hot," he told Eames, his voice hoarse even though he hadn't really deep-throated Eames, not the way the man had done him. 

"Shouldn't that be my line?" Eames panted, his wiry chest still rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to pull himself together. He was coated in a glistening layer of perspiration and if Arthur thought it was even remotely possible to get it up again so soon he'd have been ready to get them both going right away.

As it was, he peeled his hand away from Eames' dick and levered himself to lay beside him, pulling Eames into his arms. Eames rolled readily into him, and plastered their mouths together despite the come still smeared all over Arthur's mouth and jaw. 

"I think we should shower," Arthur murmured, after they'd traded lazy kisses for almost two full minutes, to the point that his lips were growing numb. "Together. And then maybe take a nap before we have sex again."

He fought to remain relaxed and at ease rather than tensing up while waiting for Eames' response, wondering whether Eames was going to insist that they go jogging, that they stick to their exercise routine....

"Sounds delightful," Eames rumbled, licking at Arthur's chin even though that had to be disgusting. "And then lunch."

Arthur felt his heart swell with this triple triumph. Eames was willing to forgo their daily work-out. They were going to screw some more. And Eames was already thinking about food, when breakfast had been less than two hours ago.

"Good, it's a plan," was all he said, though, keeping his tone mildly cheerful. The worst thing he could do now would be to point any of that out to Eames.

Now, the hardest part was going to be getting off the bed and getting into the shower. The rest of the day was going to be smooth sailing, and possibly the best day of their break that they had spent together so far, but making that first move to drag himself off the bed and into the bathroom.... 

Well, that was going to be the real struggle.

***

Arthur and Eames were eight days into their joint vacation, and Arthur felt as though the worst really was behind him. Behind them.

He had been afraid before it had happened that somehow having sex would mess things up between them, make things harder, but that hadn't been the case. It had actually helped, _somehow_. 

Sex wasn't a reward for good behavior, it wasn't a distraction from either of their goals, it just was.

And Eames seemed to find it to be an acceptable alternative to working out excessive amounts, which suited Arthur down to the ground. Given the choice between exercising in the gym or fucking, he doubted he'd ever pick the former. 

Especially when it was Eames he was having sex with.

They worked together as well as bed as they did on the job, if not better. And as much as Arthur loved the dreamshare and was looking forward to getting back to work, eventually, he was taking his time to get to know Eames and to figure out what he enjoyed. The fact that Eames was doing the same in reverse, and using this new knowledge to pleasure Arthur... well, that was even better.

This wasn't to say things had suddenly become magically better where Eames' eating disorder was concerned. He still struggled. Arthur had removed the reason that had kick-started Eames on his downward spiral by making sure that Eames knew he found his body attractive as it was, whether he was too lean or whether he bulked up again. But undoing the trigger didn't make the symptoms go away, and Eames still had his own internal demons to fight.

"To be honest, it's terrifying," Eames confided to Arthur over dinner on the eighth day. They were eating lasagna and garlic bread, and Arthur was proud and pleased that Eames was willing to indulge in his desire for such a heavy meal, and that he was actually well on his way to clearing his plate of the half-portion Arthur had given him. Arthur was debating asking Eames if he wanted seconds, but Eames' words had derailed this train of thought.

"What's terrifying?" he asked, trying really hard to understand. More than anything else, Eames deserved Arthur's understanding and respect. He was trying so hard to do what Arthur asked. And the more Arthur could figure out where he was coming from, the more chance he had of reversing any negative thoughts and habits on Eames' part.

Eames set his fork down and licked lips that were greasy with garlic butter. "Giving up the control," he replied earnestly, meeting Arthur's eyes steadily. "Because once you start eating, you can't stop. Your body gets used to it and begins demanding food all the time."

Arthur boggled a little. He couldn't help it. He wanted to be supportive, he really did, but... "That's what bodies _do_ , Eames," he couldn't help saying pointedly.

Eames sighed, sounding weary, and Arthur winced. He didn't want to make Eames feel as though he was on the defensive, or as though Arthur was trying to blow him off, but he honestly didn't get it.

"Okay," Arthur said, reaching over and clasping Eames' wrist. "All right."

Eames shrugged, hunching into himself a little. "It's just easier to go without," he mumbled, eyeing his plate. "I know that's wrong, Arthur. Don't think I'm not aware. But it's so much easier."

"You're doing so well, though," Arthur assured Eames. "Not just at doing things because I ask you to, but because you know they're right."

Eames nodded, looking thoughtful, and then his face unexpectedly brightened.

"You're right," he said, eyes wide as he stared at Arthur. If they hadn't been in the middle of both a meal and a very serious conversation, Arthur was pretty sure he'd like to see if the kitchen table could withstand him fucking Eames over it, but as it was he tamped down on the visceral response to Eames' excitement and boyish good looks, and instead focused on the matter at hand. Namely, dinner and conversation.

"Of course I'm right," Arthur smiled, hoping that teasing a little was the right move and not the absolute wrong one. Then he sobered. "I may not understand your feelings of fear, but I do respect them. And I think you're incredibly brave for continuing to try and for constantly doing better. You're probably handling this better than I would if our roles were reversed."

Eames scoffed at that last declaration, though Arthur could see his grey eyes shining with unshed tears for a moment or two before he blinked them away.

"Seriously," he pursued. He wanted Eames to know that he recognized how much courage he was expending on a daily basis. "I'm so proud of you for allowing me to boss you around the way you have been, as well as for the progress you've made."

Eames laughed, the sound a little choked but honest. "Doing what you tell me isn't any hardship, Arthur," he said, even though they both knew this wasn't true with regards to eating. "And it always ends up benefiting me."

Arthur simply smiled again, still holding Eames' wrist. He let himself imagine how it _could_ have been, how he had sort of expected it to go before he'd gotten Eames to his apartment; Eames fighting him every step of the way, getting skinnier and skinnier, snarking and snarling and getting weaker before Arthur's very eyes....

He really had been half expecting that to happen. So for Eames to suck it up, to eat and to reduce his time spent working out was something amazing that Arthur treasured as much for the intent as the result.

"You're incredible," he verbalized.

Eames blinked at him, then frowned faintly. "Are you having a conversation in your head that you're not sharing with me?" he asked curiously, and Arthur laughed.

"No." He shook his head. "It's just a fact."

Eames flushed, heat racing through his cheeks and darkening the tips of his ears. He had gained back some weight in the past week and a day, and he looked better than he ever had before, Arthur thought. Or maybe it was just because he knew he could _have_ Eames now, whenever he wanted.

"You're just as incredible," Eames returned, still adorably pink, his plush lips curving in an answering smile. "And don't you forget that."

Arthur felt warm, pleased by the sincerity in Eames' voice as well as his words.

"We're both pretty awesome, huh?" he asked, prompting Eames to crack up. Arthur laughed along with him, and they both finished eating before repairing to Arthur's bedroom for some more sex.

And this time Eames seemed to have no problem with physical exertion directly after a meal. Arthur enjoyed that fact almost as much as he enjoyed the sex.

***

Eames no longer slept in the guest room, though his personal items were still all in there. Arthur was laying in bed, Eames curled against his side, sleepily pondering whether to invite Eames to put his clothing in Arthur's drawers and closet, waiting for his post-sex buzz to wear off enough that he could drift off, when Eames shifted next to him.

"What is it?" Arthur asked lazily. They'd been staying together for over a week now, and had shared Arthur's bed for several nights, and while he still had so much to learn about Eames, Arthur could tell there was something on the man's mind. Otherwise he'd already be dead to the world and breathing heavily in a way that wasn't _quite_ snoring but was incredibly adorable.

"I was just wondering..." Eames spoke up, verifying Arthur's suspicions, "Not that I'm not grateful, but how much longer are you going to be hand-holding me, Arthur? Making sure that I eat and that I don't exercise too much?"

Arthur was silent a moment. It was a serious question and Eames deserved a serious answer. Even more, he _needed_ an answer, because he was giving over so much control to Arthur without expecting anything in return.

"Until you can prove to me that you're better," he finally said, and it didn't seem quite right, but it was the best he had to offer.

Eames was silent for a long time, and Arthur tried to come up with a better, more satisfying answer, but words eluded him. Eames _had_ to go and ask him something so serious while they were in the post-coitus shutdown?

After far too long, Eames mumbled, "You realize that's not much incentive to change my behavior."

Arthur squinted up at the shadow-swathed ceiling, brow creasing in a frown, and glanced over at Eames even though he couldn't see him in a dark.

"What do you mean?"

Eames shifted again, but at least he was cuddling closer to Arthur, not pulling away.

"Well. You've got me here because I need your help. Once I no longer need the babysitting...."

Arthur was full on scowling now, his heart pounding against his chest though he forced himself to remain relaxed where he was sprawled on his mattress. 

"I never said I would _leave_ you once you were over this," he said, trying not to sound too snappish. "We're going to continue to work together, right? And I certainly plan to continue sleeping together, literally and figuratively. The only difference will be that you won't have to put up with my nagging any longer."

Eames heaved himself up on to one elbow and peered at Arthur through the night that had filled the bedroom. There was a little illumination coming in through the cracked curtains, the neon glow of the city lights creeping inside, but Arthur could only barely make out of straight line of Eames' nose and the bright shine of his eyes.

"Is it really that simple?" Eames wondered, his hand resting over Arthur's heart where his pulse was beginning to slow back to normal.

"Yes," Arthur replied, because to him it was.

"Oh." Eames was staring down at him, even though Arthur wasn't sure he could really see anything. "Huh."

"Isn't that what you want?" Arthur prompted. He might be more concerned, but he _knew_ , he knew that he wasn't the only one who wanted what they had, who wanted it to continue on as it was.

"Yes," Eames loosed on a long breath. "Yes, that's what I want."

Arthur had been planning on saying something reassuring, but suddenly Eames was kissing him and it was easier to just wrap his arms around the man, pull him close, and then sink them both in to the bedcovers. That quick burst of adrenaline was fading and now Arthur thought that sleep might be within reach.

"Thank you, Arthur," Eames whispered getting settled beside him again, squeezing in as close as he could get. It was a little uncomfortable, but Arthur had no problem with that. Eames' bare body pressed against his, warm flesh as smooth as silk over taut muscles. 

"You're mine now," he informed Eames around a yawn, turning his head to press a kiss to Eames' temple. "Better get used to the idea."

Eames let out a huff of breath that might be either surprise or amusement, Arthur was too sleepy to try and figure out which. 

"Well, all right then," Eames rumbled, arm slung around Arthur's waist, sharp cheekbone pressing against his shoulder. "So long as you acknowledge it goes the other way as well."

Arthur hummed out a sleepy sound of agreement, allowing slumber to enfold him in warm wings. Tomorrow he would deal with his bold declaration and Eames' rejoinder, but here in the dark of the night it all seemed so easy and natural.

Eames wasn't completely better yet, but he was well on his way. And he was allowing Arthur to help him, to continue to help him. This was all going to work out, Arthur was confident.

And eventually they'd end this vacation and get back to work, an even better team than they had been before for the time they had spent together, getting to know one another.

For now, though.... For now they were on break, they were in simpatico, there was great sex and good food to be had, and Eames _was_ getting better.

Really, considering that this was all sort of his fault in the first place, Arthur couldn't have hoped for a better outcome.

He got to have his cake and eat it too, he thought. And he might have laughed at the awful food-related pun if he hadn't actively been falling asleep, Eames drowsing off beside him.

Tonight was perfect and tomorrow was going to be even better. And Arthur was ready for the rest of his life together with Eames... but that was going to have to wait until morning.

"Good night, Arthur," he heard Eames breathe in his ear, and there was the soft brush of lips on his cheek, and then he was asleep. 

[fin]


End file.
